


Blind Faith

by pinesinthewoods



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Eye Trauma, Fever, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Horror, Scopophobia, Vomiting, sanity slippage, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesinthewoods/pseuds/pinesinthewoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Stan and Ford fall into the portal together. The dimension they find themselves in is harsh and full of abominations that can make a person go mad just by looking at them. Both brothers do what they must to protect the other and survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pareidolia

Stan groaned and stirred on what felt like stone ground. What the hell happened? Was he mugged? Had he gotten beaten up again? Was he going to wake up in some alleyway stripped of his coat and shoes? No, those were still there. Stan wiggled his fingers, his toes. So far so good. Nothing really out of place, no bruises…except… He hissed as a sharp searing pain lanced through his shoulder. Then everything came crashing back on him like a tidal wave. The basement, the portal, the fight… a searing pain, the lurching feeling of seeing his brother suspended midair, then grabbing him around his waist. White light, breaking through a gelatinous membrane, a tingling sensation, then nothing. 

That meant… 

_Stanford.  
_

  
“Stanford?” Stan’s voice was hoarse, shaking, weaker then he wanted it to be. He cleared his throat and tried again.  "Stanford!“ He frowned and attempted to open his eyes, when a strong hand suddenly clamped over them, keeping him in darkness. 

"Hey, what the – get offa me!” Stan began to struggle in panic against his attacker. Being attacked in the dark usually ended in a mugging or worse for Stan, and he readied himself to fight back tooth-and-nail against his assailant.

“Stan, Stan, it’s me!”

Stan immediately stopped struggling and relaxed with relief. “Oh geez, you scared the crap out of me, Ford! A little warnin’ next time might be nice…” His words trailed off and he heard Ford’s ragged breathing close to him, but his brother didn’t remove the hand over his eyes. 

“Hey, uh, Ford, are we playin’ hide n’ seek or somethin’ what’s going on?” He tried to pry the fingers off his face but the grip around his eyes only tightened in urgency. 

“Stan, listen carefully,” Ford whispered, and it was only then he heard the strained fear trembling under the words. “You can’t open your eyes,” he continued. “No matter what happens, you can’t.”

“W-What? Why?” Stan became still. The tone in Ford’s voice was the same fearful tone he had when he flung open the door and stuck a crossbow in his face. 

Ford took a shaking breath. “I… had an assistant who worked on the portal with me. There was a workplace…mishap.”

“A mishap, huh,” Stan repeated dubiously.

“Yes. His head went through the portal, but I was able to pull him out! And after that he was never the same… he went, uh, quite mad. After a few seconds in there.” 

Stan licked his dry lips and phrased his next words carefully. “So… you’re worried what happened to your ol’ pal, will happen to me too.” 

“Yes.” 

Stan puffed out a breath. “Makes sense. Except the only problem, Poindexter, is that you can see everything.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Ford-”

“Stanley, listen. I’ll be fine. My glasses fell off in the basement. It’s all blurry to me, I can’t see much of anything.” There was a tremor in his voice, a forced casualness that Stan knew was rife with lies.

“Ford, you’re not tellin’ me the truth,” he sighed in exasperation. 

“Okay, maybe I can see _some_ things, but it’s all very blurry. I don’t think it will affect me the same way.”

“If you say so,” Stan said doubtfully. He jumped slightly at a sudden ripping sound. Ford removed his hand but hastily replaced it with a length of fabric over his eyes, tying the knot firmly “Ow, Ford, not so tight!”

“Can you see me waving my hand?” asked Ford’s voice in front of him.   
“No, I can’t see a damn thing,” Stan snapped, crossing his arms.

“Just had to make sure…” Ford mumbled distractedly. Stan listened to his brother’s shallow breathing for another moment, concern curling in his stomach. “…Ford, what’s out there?”

“Um, just… darkness.”

“Ford, please, don’t baby me, I already have this stupid blindfold on…”

“I-It’s…” Stan heard his brother remove something from his coat, pages flipping, then a pen clicking agitatedly. 

“FORD!”

“Oh, um, they’re…” Frantic scribbling on paper. “…watching us.”

Stan’s blood went cold. “They are?”

“Yes. Lots of eyes. Uh, not just one this time.”

“This time? Ford what’re ya-” Ford cut him off with a sharp sigh, slamming the journal closed. 

“Look Stan, these things shouldn’t be seen by humans. It’s hard to tell what exactly they are, but for whatever reason they are not attacking.”

“Well…that’s good,” Stan chirped, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Yes… good,” Ford repeated in an agitated manner. Stan took a breath, almost wishing he hadn’t asked, he didn’t even want to imagine what Ford had to be seeing right then. They had to get out of there as soon as possible, before Ford went completely bonkers. He felt around the ground around him. All smooth stone, cold and structured. Then his fingers brushed against something square and metallic. _Huh, what’s this_? He picked it up, thumb running over the shape. _My lighter,_ he thought in surprise. _It must have came through the portal with us_. He was about to say something to Ford, but stopped. The lighter was a reminder of how their fight began in the first place, when he threatened to burn his journal. 

“What’s the terrain here?” Stan asked instead, quickly pocketing the lighter.

“Looks like a giant cavern… lots and lots of rocks,” Ford related, then paused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“We need to figure out how we’re gonna get food or water, otherwise we’ll just wither up and die like two overgrown cockroaches.”

“You’re right. Maybe we should start moving. The sooner we start moving, the sooner we get out of here.”

Stan grunted and forced himself to rise off the ground, but then hissed as a radiating pain stabbed from his shoulder. 

“Stan!” Ford was immediately there, clutching his arm. Stan wouldn’t admit it, but he felt relief at the touch. It grounded him after sitting in an unknown environment in complete darkness. He took a deep breath. 

“I’m fine, Ford.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying, you big liar. It’s your shoulder isn’t it? Stan, I’m so sorry…” 

“Look,” Stan ground out, “There’s no point in worryin’ about it now.”

“Stanley, that shoulder can become infected… I should take a look at it…” Ford pressed, his voice laced with guilt.

“We gotta _move_ , Ford. I think we’re on a timer, especially considerin’ those freaky friends of yours out there. There’s nothing in here that can help with my shoulder, and the only thing we can do is move forward.”

Ford let out a frustrated breath. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Let’s go. Just lean on me, when you’re getting up, don’t aggravate the wound.”

Stan complied, wrapping his good arm around Ford’s shoulders. Ford shifted his weight, and they stood up, Stan leaning against his brother for support. His burn was smoldering in pain, but he bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes closed beneath the blindfold. He had dragged himself through hell and back the last ten years, and he could do it again. 

This time, he wasn’t alone.  
-  
Ford clutched his brother, making sure he wouldn’t fall over. Stan remained oddly quiet, despite the pain Ford was sure he felt in his shoulder. _Some things never change_ , Ford thought.

When they were younger, Stan could get a paper-cut and whine up a storm to anyone who would listen. But when something happened to him that was actually serious, he would rarely say a word about it. Ford remembered one time in high school, Stan had some nasty bruises, including a black eye, which he brushed off as taking a few bad hits in boxing practice. Ford doubted the excuse, he knew his brother was hiding something. Gaining bruises during boxing practice was not uncommon, but hardly ever that severe. It was later that Ford learned that his brother was beaten after school by a group of kids that he always seemed to get on the wrong side of. Ford confronted him about it, but he just shrugged and said ‘I didn’t want you to worry.“ 

Ford found himself repeatedly glancing at Stan, reassuring himself that the blindfold was still in place. He didn’t look happy about the situation, but at least he wasn’t complaining yet. _It’s for his own good_ , Ford firmly told himself. He had prior experience dealing with demons, the dark things that lurked in dreams, and his own slipping sanity. He would be able to handle this better than Stan, who had no experience with the supernatural (as far as Ford knew anyway).

Ford had to make sure one of them was not subjected to the terrors that lurked at the corners of his vision. If both of them lost their minds, it would all be over.   
He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, unwilling to look up, cold sweat  beading on the back of his neck. Those things, whatever they were, didn’t stop watching them for one moment. The cavern had  an inkling of light to cast long shadows in the crevices and dark corners of stone on the walls and sloping ceiling. The roof of the cave reminded Ford of some sort of cathedral, majestic and sloping. Ford had no idea where they source of light came from, but it was enough for him to lead his brother around boulders and over dangerous crevasses.

Within the shadows that clung to the ceiling and walls, something was _alive_. Even out of the corners of his eyes, Ford saw writhing masses of tentacles, bodies, heaps of…something… gaping, grinning mouths full of sharp teeth. Then the eyes, so many eyes, peering from the darkness, silently, pressing dread into Ford’s chest like a dull weight. _Are these different creatures… or one creature?_ It seemed to act as one, all the eyes following them at the same time, thousands upon thousands. And that was just his blurred impressions, a large formless terror that writhed in the corners of his vision, that seemed to be the cavern itself.

Ford drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening at the ground. _Don’t look up, don’t look unless you absolutely have to._ He just had to pick his way over the rocks and around the stalagmites to lead Stan safely through this hellhole. His heart was racing again, and he wiped the sweat that had gathered on his brow with his sleeve. 

Stan sensed his distress – of course, he did – even though Ford hadn’t said a damn thing. 

"Hey, Poindexter, ya hangin’ in there?” 

“Y-Yes Stanley,” Ford managed, keeping his voice more level than he actually felt. “Can you uh, talk to me? I need a distraction, something to get my mind off… things.”

“Hm, sure. Whatya wanna talk about? I can tell you the story that some of the other wanderin’ guys told about this Bigfoot guy, you would gotten such a kick outta it…”

“What other guys?”

“Oh… other guys like me. Didn’t have a real home, just kinda, wandering around the country.”

Ford felt something squirm in his gut, and it wasn’t for fear of his environment this time. What had Stan said before in the basement? He’d been to jail in three different countries, and had to chew his way out of a trunk? “Stan… what happened to you these ten years we’ve been apart?”

Stan paused, tilting his head to the side. “That’s quite a question there. Why are ya suddenly interested in my life?”

“Look, we’re trapped in here together… I figure now’s a good as time as any to catch up,” Ford explained. “Besides… you’re my brother. I’d like to know.”

Stan seemed slightly taken aback by his frankness, and Ford couldn’t read his expression easily with the blindfold, but a slight smile appeared on his lips. However, he still dodged the question. “My life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, Ford. There’s some pretty nasty stuff that happened, and I wouldn’t want to subject your delicate ears to it.”

“Oh _please_ , Stan, just because I’m not some notorious grifter doesn’t mean I can’t handle the truth. I’ve dealt with my fair share of 'nasty stuff’.  I want to know.”

Stan sighed and after another moment, he nodded. “All right, only cuz you’re my bro. I’m trustin’ you right now, okay?”

Ford frowned but nodded, unsure of what Stan meant. Then he remembered Stan couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he affirmed.

So Stan told him. He talked about the long nights, staying up freezing in his car, the scams he pulled, running from the law. Traveling around the country, looking for the big break where he win big and get rich. Sometimes for a brief shining moment he was successful, winning money from a scam or hot streak while gambling. Then he would lose it all in a bet, or mugging.

Ford began to realize what Stan meant by trusting him because many of the stories were painful just to listen to, or were personal enough that Ford was sure Stan had never talked about them to anyone else. 

Ford remained silent, listening to Stan’s tale, and the walls of the cavern were doing the same. Stan hadn’t been lying, hearing about how his brother had to repeatedly flee from dangerous thugs, or sleep out of his car in freezing snowstorms was difficult. Even so, Ford felt a persistent nagging that Stan was leaving out significant details of his life, events that Stan himself buried deep and refused to think or talk about. Finally, Stan fell silent, his voice slightly hoarse from talking for so long. 

“That’s about it, Poindexter. Runnin’ from the law, livin’ day to day… not exactly what I had in mind when I said I was gonna make millions. Heh.” Stan’s voice wavered, now distant and dismal. “Ya know… I’d call you every once in a while. Got your numbers from Ma. Would call and hear your voice… but didn’t have the guts to say nothin’.” He sighed regretfully. “Guess I was just ashamed… had these big plans and look what happened.”

Ford furrowed his brow then gasped in realization. Right… he remembered that nearly as soon as he’d finished building his house in Gravity Falls and the phone lines were up and running, he had received one of those calls. It had happened more than once, and he always slammed the phone down in annoyance. “That was _you_? I always heard _someone_ on the other end for a second before they hung up! I always thought it was some prank caller, or nasty pervert!”

Stan chuckled weakly. “Heh… nope. Just a pathetic hobo, tryin’ to see what his brother was up to. ”

“Stan..”

“A couple of times when I was in a tough bind, I almost asked you for help.”

Ford felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly. “Stan, if I had known things were so bad for you, I would have helped… you know that.” But now he wasn’t sure if Stan _did_ know. Things had been so messed up between them for so long. Hell, things were _still_ messed up.  

Stan merely shrugged. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to get ya roped into somethin’…” Stan’s voice trailed off, and his steps faltered, causing Ford to also slow his pace.

“Stan?” 

His brother stumbled forward, and Ford flinched in surprise. He managed to yank on Stan’s arm, pulling him back upright. Stan was leaning on him with more weight than before, slightly sagging against him. 

“Are you okay?” Ford asked uncertainly, a pang of guilt coursing through him. The least he could do in exchange for Stan’s literal blind trust was make sure he didn’t trip.

“Ugh… yeah… caught my foot or somethin’. Stupid rock…” Stan muttered blearily.

Ford didn’t like the way his voice sounded. His words were slurred. Something felt off. Ford narrowed his eyes and one hand shot forward to feel the side of Stan’s face. He nearly jerked his hand back in shock. 

“Stan, your forehead feels like a furnace!” Ford yelped. 

“Yeah, well… if we find an egg maybe we can cook it.”

“What?!”

“Sorry, I’m jus’… really hungry”

Ford resisted the urge to shake him. “You’re sick and you didn’t even tell me?”

“And how would have that helped?” Stan countered with surprising vigor, despite his condition.  

Ford furiously berated himself for letting Stan’s condition go unnoticed right under his nose.  He was the lookout of this operation, and he couldn’t let his brother get hurt, or sick. Especially since he was asking Stan to rely entirely on him for guiding them safely through this awful place. 

“We should take a break.” 

“No,” Stan grunted, shaking his head firmly. He straightened up again, readjusting his grip on Ford’s arm. “We gotta keep goin’ Ford. Need more ground to be covered.” 

“Stan, you’re _sick_ , I’m not going to push you-”

“You ain’t _pushin_ ’ me, Poindexter! I’m pushin’ both of our sorry asses so we don’t _die_! There’s no food, no water, 'round here, nothin’! If we stop now, we might not start again!” 

Ford ground his teeth in frustration, knowing his brother was right, but still whole-heartedly hating that fact. The cavern was ominous and large, and those things were still there. He could feel them watching, _Ignore them, don’t think about it… concentrate on Stan. He needs you right now._

“Fine,” Ford maintained. “Although I want to inform you that I am _extremely_ unhappy about this decision.”

“Yeah, yeah, ya giant nerd. Look on the bright side, you’ll get some exercise instead of playin’ board games in the basement, smell the roses a bit, yadda yadda. ” 

“Oh my god, Stan, how are you still this annoying.”

“Eh, I like to call it 'charmingly determined.’” 

“All right you 'charmingly determined’ knucklehead, put your arm over my shoulder. I’m not having you fall again.” Stan grunted as he complied, his body still slumped over, unable to support his own full weight. Ford took a breath, steadying  himself and shifted his grip around Stan, preparing himself to continue the journey. He wasn’t going to think about how hopeless this whole thing was, or that he wasn’t sure they could last much longer. His eyes moved upwards toward the cathedral-sloped dome of the cave. 

His whole body stiffened, then quaked uncontrollably. Dim impressions of thousands of fixed glowing eyes, flashes of tongue gliding along razor sharp teeth. Writhing darkness that curled along the shadows of stone, and just as dead silent.   _Still there… they’re still there… watching us. Watching ME. What does it WANT?_ He couldn’t tear his eyes away this time, they were glued there, as if the horror was beckoning him, reeling in his mind like a plaything. 

“ _Stanford!_ ” His brother’s sharp worried voice, broke his trance. Ford inhaled shakily, staring at his brother. Blindfold still secure. Good. Good.

“Ford… it’s those things again, right? God, you’re shakin’ like a leaf. Let me jus’ take this thing off for a little bit, give you break-”

“NO!” Ford commanded, roughly grabbing his arm, his voice ringing against the cavernous walls. Stan froze at the tone.

“N-No, Stan… I’m fine. One of us has to stay grounded… kind of funny it’s _you_ , but here we are.”

“I don’t like what’s happenin’ to you, Poindexter,” Stan said softly. 

“Well, I don’t like that you have to keep walking while you’re about to collapse with fever! But right now this is all we can do!” Ford shouted. Something was growing in his chest. A small bubble of hysteria, a dark madness that threatened to continue to grow and ultimately consume him. He couldn’t let it, not yet, not when his brother was sick and needed him.  "It’s like you said Stan, we have to keep going!“ 

”…Fine,“ Stan growled, obviously unhappy. _Well, at least we’re both on the same page now._

The thing about the cavern was that that there was no sense of daylight, nothing to gauge what time of day it was, causing the moments to blur together in seemingly endless wandering. It reminded Ford of the bunker he’d constructed, a whole sanctuary for his own paranoia and fear.

Ford kept his head down, internally counting their footsteps, eyes scanning for something, anything that could provide a brief respite. Stan was still upright, still keeping pace, but every time Ford glanced at him, he seemed a little more worse for wear. Stan had fallen silent a while ago, most likely too exhausted and sick to keep up with an intelligible conversation. That was fine with Ford, his brother had to conserve as much energy as he could possible. The only problem was that there was nothing distracting Ford from the oppressive presence in the shadows of the ceiling, the cracks on the wall. He didn’t realize he began muttering fretfully to himself.  Those dark tentacles seemed to be probing the corners of his vision, into his thoughts, his brain, they were going to force their way out of his sockets…. 

Ford gasped loudly, as if awakening from a dream, and he realized he was still trudging forward, Stan leaning on him. It wasn’t a dream, or nightmare, it was real, it was staring at him, and he wasn’t going to wake up. Ford let out a small distressed noise, fixing his wide eyes on the solid gray stones beneath them. 

"Ford,” Stan mumbled, voice hoarse and parched, and he squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry… haven’t been talkin’ much… I can help, Ford, please…just let me-”

“N-No… Stanley, conserve your energy,” Ford forced out past the dryness in his own throat. God, he was so thirsty.  "You’re doing great… just a little further.“ Well, that was an obvious lie, but he needed to say _something._

"Hey, I thought I was the liar of the family.” Stan managed to put some humor in his worn-out words.  

“Shh. A little f-further.” Stan just squeezed his arm again to let him know that he heard.

Ford cast his mind around frantically for something to block his mind, anything to help deal with this. He started reciting elements from the periodic table out loud, starting with Hydrogen. He got up to Sulfur before he realized it wasn’t enough, he could say these like he could the alphabet, and it didn’t require much thought. He started over, this time adding on the atomic weights, reciting them exactly down to the decimal point. To his credit, Stan didn’t comment on it, perhaps realizing this was helping Ford in some manner. Or maybe he was too drained to say much of anything. 

Ford had reached number seventy-nine, Gold, when something caught his eye on the cave floor. Something that wasn’t there before. A soft moss-like substance grew on the side of a boulder. Ford’s heart skipped a beat, eyes wandering further. There was a strange sight before him. Plants, fungi, even small trees were scattered before him, mostly gnarled,  growing close to the ground. All bioluminescent, glowing with alien light in the darkness of the cave. Ford realized several things. Usually plants like moss and lichen grew close to the entrance of a cave where there was sunlight, but these were completely bizarre flora that seemed to generate their own light instead absorbing energy with photosynthesis. However, there was a good chance that water was close by.  Hope rose in Ford’s heart like a tentative quivering bubble .

He glanced at Stan who was breathing raggedly, head bowed to his chest. A little further. 

The light from the plant-life cast an eerie but beautiful glow around the immediate area as Ford cast about for any sign of water. He figured if they had to, they could squeeze the moss until it released water, but he wasn’t sure how successful that would be. 

Then he saw it, probably the most beautiful sight he had seen in a long time. A still pool of water, nestled amongst the moss, those small alien trees clustered around it. He internally thanked every lucky star, fate and electron that may have been listening. 

“Stan, I wasn’t lying. W-We’re not gonna die yet.” There was no answer from his brother. Ford jostled him a bit, trying to get his attention.

“Stan, did you hear me?”

Stan didn’t reply. Instead, without a sound, he collapsed. Ford grunted at the sudden weight and sunk with his brother to the ground. Hurriedly, he turned Stan over, and took in his pallid demeanor and sweat-drenched face.  His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. 

“Stan!” Ford cried out, but there was still no answer. Only the echoes of his own words. 

Ford was alone with the twisting shadows above him.

 


	2. Nyctophobia

“Come on Stan, wake up,” Ford muttered, desperation creeping into his voice. His brother remained unconscious, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Everything was silent, save for the rhythmic dripping of water from stalactites. Although Stan was unconscious, Ford knew he wasn’t alone. Those eyes watched his every move, as if observing an entertaining stage play. Ford felt the bubble of terror expand within him, his mind quaking with the darkness that lurked at its edges. 

“No, no, no… n-not yet…” he whispered to himself, and partly to whatever was listening. He could not allow himself to succumb to the darkness yet, not when Stan was in such dire straits. Learning to compartmentalize, ignore, and disassociate thoughts was something he had learned to do throughout the course of his research into the supernatural.  It had proved a valuable defense mechanism on more than one occasion. So he did that now, sinking into himself, concentrating on repressing his dread at the abominations sliding over the ceiling. It wouldn’t last that long, a part of him knew madness was rising like high tide in his mind. He focused his thoughts on Stan. _Your brother needs you. Help him now. That’s the most important thing.  
_

Ford’s eyes darted over to the pool of water, then back at his brother. He gritted his teeth in determination and grabbed Stan under his armpits and dragged him the last few yards. The water was crystal clear, reflecting the shimmering bioluminescence of the plant-life around them. Ford may have appreciated the sight more, if he wasn’t trying so hard to ignore thousands of eyes reflected back at him. He tentatively dipped his hand into the water. Tepid, not exactly cold or hot, but it did feel surprisingly nice on his scratched up hands. Encouraged, he cupped both hands into the water, capturing the liquid. He carefully moved the precious water to where his brother lay motionless, some of it already spilling though his fingers. The leaking water reminded Ford of own sanity, slowly dripping away, swallowed by the dark cave. Stan had been right, they were on a timer. Ford was running out of time to help his brother while he still could.  

“Stan, please drink this,” he in instructed softly, unsure of whether he could even hear him. He tilted his hand slightly, causing water to dribble over Stan’s mouth. The contact with the water caused his brother to stir, much to Ford’s relief. It was difficult to try and get him to actually drink the water. His hands were poor containers, and he begrudgingly thought that since he had _six_ fingers he should be able to carry more water in them, but it was not helpful in the slightest. 

He desperately wished for a cup, or anything that could help his brother drink easier. That gave him an idea. He fumbled at his collar to undo his tie, probably the least dirty article of clothing on him, and dunked it into the water. He used his other hand to raise Stan’s head slightly, taking note that he was still warm with fever. He guided the drenched tie to his mouth, and Stan responded, drinking the water with increasing greed as it squeezed out of the fabric. _That’s a relief, at least he’s responsive_ , Ford thought. He repeated the process a few times, until Stan finally seemed more alert. He stirred and groaned softly. 

“You awake?” Ford couldn’t be sure with the blindfold still covering Stan’s eyes.

“Ugh… Ford? Wha… what happened,” Stan mumbled. Instinctively, he reached upwards at the blindfold. 

Ford’s heart skipped a beat, and he grabbed his wrist, more harshly then he intended. “Don’t touch it, Stan! That thing stays on!” 

“Ow, ow… okay, Ford,” Stan winced, voice still muzzy from just waking up. For realized how tightly he was squeezing Stan’s wrist, and let go guiltily. He didn’t mean to hurt his already sick brother. 

“What happened?” 

“You collapsed. Thankfully, there’s some water here.”

“Hooray… ya did it, bud…mazel tov,” Stan cheered weakly. 

Ford felt a smile quirk on his mouth. They were far from out of the woods yet, but finding the water was an oasis of hope in this seemingly endless cave. 

“Jus’ wish I didn’t feel like… that one time… when you tried to make kugel…”

“Hey, that was when we were teenagers! I’ve learned to cook really well since then.”

“Uh huh… sure.”

“You’re still sick, Stan. You have a fever. Can you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Ugh… everythin’… your voice… ”

Ford sighed impatiently. “Stan…”

“Ugh,  I dunno Ford. I’m cold and hot.  Head hurts.  Stomach hates me… my shoulder’s still killin’ me.”

Ford frowned sharply. “Let me see your shoulder.” To his surprise, Stan didn’t put up a fight, but just nodded.  His entire body must have been drained of energy. Ford helped him sit up and peered closely at the burn. It clenched his stomach with guilt that the heat burned straight through Stan’s coat. It must have been extremely painful.  He wished he had more light, but from what he saw in the dimness, it didn’t look good. The skin around it was too dark and festered, and there may have been pus accumulating. It looked like the beginnings of an infection, as Ford feared. The fever probably had something to do with it, although usually it took at least a day for a fever to set in from an untreated injury. Stan was exhausted and stressed, so it was no wonder the wound was taking its toll on him. 

This was all his fault for pushing Stan into that stupid ward. He had been overwhelmed by anger and betrayal, and wanted to hurt his brother back for his stinging words. But he never wanted to hurt him like this. 

“God, there has to be a way to look at this better. It’s so dark, and I need to treat it.” The plants provided light, but it was very dim and not useful. 

“Start a fire,” Stan murmured.

“I don’t know how. We don’t have matches or anything.”

“My lighter.”

“You still have it? I thought you dropped it when we were…” Ford shifted uncomfortably, the words catching in his throat.  

His uneasiness was either unnoticed or ignored by Stan. “Weird thing, I found it on the ground in here. Must have came through with us.” He pulled a small metallic square out of his pocket. 

“Stan, this could be invaluable for us!”

“Well… At least I did somethin’ helpful for once.”

Ford glanced at him, a little unnerved by the offhandedness of the comment, but he didn’t say anything. He concentrated on the task at hand of creating a circle of stones around some moss, and retrieved some branches from the small gnarled trees, for good measure. He began flicking the lighter until it caught onto some of the foliage. Ford allowed himself a small grin pride, as he watched the small fire grow. Not bad. 

The firelight illuminated the area around them, and Ford could finally see his brother in detail since they went through the portal. 

His hair was damp against his forehead and back, and his shirt and coat clung to him from the sweat. His face was now flushed with fever. If Ford could see his eyes, he was sure that they would be glassy and unfocused. Ford examined the burn again, and he realized he had been correct about the tale-tell signs of infection. It was obvious Stan body temperature was still radiating sickly heat. The winter jacket and shirt he wore probably were not helping with that.

“Stan, we have to get the jacket and shirt off.”

Stan’s head swung listlessly toward his general direction. “Hm…what?” 

Ford felt a pang of worry. He wasn’t even keeping up with a simple order.

“The layers you’re wearing are making you warmer. Plus, I need better access to the infected area. Not to mention the filthy shirt probably isn’t great to have around that burn…”

“Fine, fine. Sheesh.” He tried to shrug out of his coat and failed miserably, hissing in pain as it brushed against the burn. Ford went to help him, trying to keep the fabric off the injured area. The shirt was harder to remove. It clung to him like a second layer of skin. Stan grumbled the entire time, which heartened Ford that at least he had the energy to complain.

Once it was off, Ford dunked the article of clothing, which looked like it had been dragged through several layers of hell, into the water, washing away the grease and dirt. He wrung the fabric out and dabbed at Stan’s forehead, trying to remove some of the gathered sweat and possibly cool him down although the water wasn’t exactly cold.  Stan flinched at the sudden contact, and muttered a complaint that was unintelligible.  

Then Ford saw by the firelight something on Stan’s skin that made him pause in confusion. He peered closer at his brother’s chest and stomach. Small circular marks dotted his skin. Ford wouldn’t have noticed them if it wasn’t for the light of the fire. _What the…  
_

Ford, brow furrowed, continued to stare. His heart began to race faster when he realized these were injuries of some kind. _From a demon? A monster? Oh god, had those_ things _already started to corrupt him in some way? Am I too late?_

Then it hit him with a lurching churn of his stomach. Burn marks. All these circular markings were burn marks, and they were placed meticulously, almost in straight lines, across his body. They were scabbed over and surrounded by puckered red and pink skin, and oh god, it must have happened fairly recently then. They weren’t faded, weren’t old hurts of the past, they were still healing. Ford could only think of one thing that could cause these tiny circular blemishes on his brother’s skin, and it wasn’t supernatural at all. Even so, he  was sick to his stomach. _Holy shit._

“Stan…” Ford swallowed, part of him not wanting to ask, but he needed to know the truth. “These marks…”

Stan almost seemed to stop breathing. Then he gave a slight shrug, but winced at the motion. “Got on someone’s bad side… who I shouldn’t have…“ he answered wearily. 

"He hurt you,” Ford stated in disbelief. He was trying to wrap his head around someone hurting his brother in this way. The same brother who loved toffee peanuts, making treasure maps, playing in the waves… Who had always had his back. The stories Stan told him of his past were heart breaking to say the least, but Ford never expected him to be the victim of something so harrowing.

“Yeah,” Stan replied, his voice now distant, vacant of emotion. “Held those suckers there ‘til I screamed… told me he liked to hear me scream real pretty.”

“ _Jesus christ_ , Stan,” Ford cried, his voice breaking like glass. He was unable to hide the undiluted horror from his tone, although he immediately regretted shouting. Stan jumped at his outburst.

“Ugh. Sorry.” Stan ran a trembling hand through his long tangled hair. He hugged his knees to his chest, hiding the injuries from view. “Jus’… I think my filter’s down or somethin’.” He let out shaky breath. “Didn’t mean to upset you, bro.”

“No… It’s fine,” Ford quavered. “I asked.” 

They sat in silence as Ford continued pressing the wet cloth to Stan’s skin. He didn’t want to think about what kind of person would do that to Stan. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have cigarettes put on his skin… or to have a brand burned into his back.  

“You… don’t seem to have good luck with being burned,” Ford observed, trying to cover his own outburst and the tenseness in the air. He realized it was in poor taste to say, especially since he was the one who caused one of his burns, but Stan just snorted and leaned his head back on the stone behind him.

“Guess not, huh,” Stan replied tiredly.  
-  
Time passed, and Stan seemed to waver between wakefulness and unconsciousness.  Ford had Stan lay down on the ground at a certain point, realizing it would be easier for both of them as he tried to treat the wound. Stan lay face down, and Ford had  slipped Stan’s tattered jacket under his brother’s head, to provide some comfort from the cold ground. He draped his own tan trench coat over his lower back and legs as a blanket, to help with the chills. Hopefully this, as well as the fire, could help moderate his temperature. 

“Holy hell, Ford… I feel like absolute shit…” Stan whispered, his gravelly voice slightly muffled by his make-shift pillow.

“I know… ” Ford replied, in what he hoped was a calming voice. “I’m trying to clean your burn a bit, so it won’t get more infected.”

Ford  dabbed away the grime and sweat around the burn, his brother every so often emitting a small gasp or flinching from the pain. Ford was trying to be as delicate as possible, but it was difficult without any medical supplies. He wished he had some painkillers or fever reducers, anything to ease Stan’s misery. 

“How are you doing? Do you need more water?” Ford asked. Stan shook his head, face hidden in his arms. Then he moaned and rolled over to his side, retching. Ford steadied him as best he could, until it was over. There didn’t seem to be much in his stomach. After he was done, Stan groaned, and Ford could have sworn he saw a tear fall from beneath the blindfold, catching the light of the fire.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured.

“It’s not your fault you’re sick, Stan. Try and relax,” Ford soothed, although his throat was tight.

“No… I’m sorry…'bout your science project.”

It took a few moments for Ford to understand what Stan meant. Then his heart clenched in realization.“It’s okay, Stan. Don’t worry about that right now…”

“It was an accident, Sixer….” Stan continued, his words slurring with fever. 

“Please… I’m sorry.” 

Ford had to bite his lip to keep from crying. He swallowed hard and brushed some of his brother’s sweaty bangs from his face. “It’s okay. It’s the past.”

Stan’s face seemed to relax, then a slight smile formed on his lips. “Mm. 'Kay.” 

Seeing his brother in such a wretched state made him feel helpless in a way he had never felt before, more than when Fiddleford had left the portal project, even more than when the demon had deceived him. This was Stan, he could very well be dying, and Ford could do absolutely nothing. When he thought about it, the best he was doing now was making his brother as comfortable as he could. 

Ford ran a shaking arm over his own sweaty forehead. His head felt fuzzy, swirling with darkness, a sea of eyes. _No. No, concentrate on Stan_. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much energy he was expending staying focused on his brother and pushing the darkness to the back of his mind. Those horrific abominations were creeping up again now, taking advantage of his absolute fatigue and fear. Ford heard a gibbering incoherent voice in the back of his mind, saying this was all hopeless, that he would watch Stan die, they would both die here in the darkness.

“Shut up,” he moaned, clenching his fists into his hair. He wanted to stamp out that voice, extinguish every last one of those eyes, forget about ever seeing them. 

Ford didn’t allow himself to cry, even though all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and join his brother in his misery. Instead, he sat there, listening to the delusional whimpers and nonsensical mutterings of his brother in his worsening fever. And he wasn’t sure which was worse, the chaotic terrified voice in his own head, or his brother’s desperate delirious pleading.

“Ford… d-don’t let dad kick me out,” Stan begged. “I-I didn’t… don’t leave me.”

“Shh. It’s okay… I won’t.” Ford placed a calming hand on the top of Stan’s hand. 

A few tears finally escaped and rolled down his cheeks, but he barely registered them.

Ford wished he had a thermometer, just to see how high the temperature had become. He figured if he was hallucinating that meant the fever was high enough. Then a small childish part of him wished their mother was there. He hadn’t wished something like that for years, not since he was kid.

Once when they were young, probably around six or seven, he and Stan were struck with a fever simultaneously. Ford vaguely  remembered their mother placing them in a lukewarm bath, and chiding them both about not dressing properly for the weather, and that if they were out past six again, pirates would come and kidnap them.  She explained that warm water could help them feel better and bring down a fever. Ford always assumed it  was another lie, but later on Ford realized there was some truth to it. Despite her pathological lying, she truly tried her best to care for them. 

_Warm water can help regulate the fever_ , Ford thought to himself.  Ford glanced between the water and his brother, and made up his mind. It was lukewarm, the right temperature, and at this point he was desperate. Without any fever reducers, or any sort of help, it was their best option. He had no intention of waiting to see if Stan’s fever got higher, and possibly becoming irreversible.  Ford crossed to the side of the pool, and stuck his foot in, searching for a bottom. His foot connected with stone a few feet down. 

“All right, Stan, try and work with me here,” he muttered. He kneeled down and swung Stan’s arm over his shoulder, lifting him enough so he wouldn’t drag as much on the ground. It struck him that his brother was even warmer than before; he felt the heat through his own shirt now. Then he exerted his dwindling strength and started to move him. Stan let out a small whimper of protest, but otherwise was silent. 

“Come on buddy,” Ford coaxed softly. “Just a little more.”  Stan must have heard him, at least subconsciously, because he allowed himself to be moved forward, until they reached the edge of the pool. Then it became more difficult. Ford got one of Stan’s legs into the water and he reacted with sudden vehement protest. His body jerked and he tried to strain away from Ford’s grip. He squirmed so much, it was like trying to give an ornery dog a bath. Ford gritted his teeth and struggled to pull Stan in, not wanting to be rough, but  his feverish twin was not making it easy on him. 

“No…” Stan protested feebly. He didn’t seem to realize what was happening. He was probably still delusional and unaware of his surroundings, caught up in some kind of dream.

“Easy, easy,” Ford calmed. “It’s going to help you, I promise. It’s not going to hurt you… easy, now.”

Stan slowly stopped struggling, and allowed his brother to guide him into the water.  They were both submerged to about their midsections as they sat down.  Stan let out a small sigh, that sounded like one of contentment. The water was warm around Ford, but to Stan, whose body temperature was even warmer, it probably felt cool. Ford didn’t really know what to do now except wait and see if Stan’s fever broke. His brother huddled up to him, head falling down to rest on Ford’s shoulder, and Ford felt the heat of the fever.

Ford closed his eyes to block out the oppressive darkness around them. He was so tired and the ache seeped into his bones. It wouldn’t be too much to go to sleep for a few moments, to let his dreams take them where they would…  
-  
Ford blinked and opened his eyes. The cave was gone. His brother, the pool, everything was gone. The darkness was a living entity. It surrounded him, pervaded him. There was no escaping, there was nothing he could do.

_Anomaly._

It was a legion of voices who spoke to him. Writhing blackness flowed around and through him like a ghost, causing the barest of shudders to pass through him. _  
_

_Interesting. He is a Convergence._

_Yes. Interesting. Cosmic  energy surrounds him. Very appealing_.

The voices weren’t speaking out loud, but he understood, and they vibrated through his mind in an ancient way that shook the core of his being. 

_Anomaly. You hear Us._

“Yes,” Ford replied, the dream-like state making him bolder, but less cautious.

_Ah. Very good. Good. You interest us._

“Why?” He didn’t know how he could speak with dissolving into mindless screaming, when everything in the core of his being wanted to do just that. 

_The center of crossroads. Time converges on you. Events split from you._

_You create the Rift. One of our own is interested._

“Cipher,” Ford realized. “He’s already approached me.”

_Yes. Foolish young one. Too greedy.  
_

_Will be his undoing._

“What do you want,” Ford whispered. It felt like his body was part of the mist, the dark vapor flowing around him.  

_Maybe Nothing. Maybe Something. Maybe Everything._

_So much energy around you. We are hungry, but cannot touch you._

_You are too important to the Rules. To Time._

_Most unpleasant. Quite annoying.  
_

_Rules are Rules._

“What do you WANT,” Ford screamed, his voice swallowed by the shadows 

_Your kin. Brother._

_Let him See us.  
_

_We can make a deal. You go free. We take him. We are quite hungry._

“Fuck off,” Ford snarled. 

_You will not last much longer, Anomaly. You know this._

_Your mind is fractured. Ebbing. Soon gone._

_We are doing you a favor. The Universe a favor.  
_

_This deal can save your sanity. Or you will be lost in darkness forever._

_He will be lost too. You cannot save him. He will See. He will Know._

“Not if I can help it. Neither of us will play your game, and we’re going to find a way out of here.” 

_A shame. Mortals are irrational. Risk their own soul for another. Foolish._

_Amusing to say the least. Quite amusing._

“I’m not going to let you take him.” No matter what it took. Not even if he had to give up his own sanity.  
-  
 _Stan was running from a hulking formless monster. It followed him, pressing in the back of his mind, like a dull weight. A splintery tendril reached out and grabbed his shoulder, then jerked its hand away. He screamed and staggered and he realized he was leaning on the hood of his car. He looked around frantically and saw that his legs were stuck in some sort of sticky grime. He struggled futilely, trying to pull himself onto the hood of his car, but the stuff held fast. He realized that it was salt water taffy, a kaleidoscope of color mashed together. He tried screaming for help, but no one heard him, he was completely alone in this wasteland with the monster… Stan could only fall still and tremble , as it towered over him. It reached out again, this time appendages catching him  around his arms. A large grubby hand dug it’s fingernails into his chest and stomach.  
_

_He felt it scratch out words, words he didn’t have to see to know what they were. Fuck-up. Worthless.  Stan didn’t allow himself to scream, just stared into the strange pink cotton candy sky. He blinked when he saw something float past. A fez with the strange fish-shaped symbol on it. Stan recalled seeing it around his home in Glass Shard Beach.  
_

_The fish spoke to him. “Hey, kid. You gotta keep goin’. Don’t screw the pooch on this one.”  
_

_“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. Then everything was burning, the taffy melted from around him and the car and he fell backwards, the monster losing its grip on him._  
-  
Fever blurred reality and dreams together. Stan woke up gasping, in complete darkness . Panic seized him, then a gentle hand soothed him, and a voice he recognized spoke to him. _Mom? No.. that’s not her..Stanford_. He was there for real, after all these years? Stan reached out until he felt the fabric of his shirt, and tried to plead with him. To tell him not to leave. He couldn’t be alone again. Then he would wake up again, water would be pressed to his parched mouth. It all blurred together with fever, dreams, nightmares, until he woke up one more time. 

His mind spun in confusion, blurred and disoriented. Then his senses began to reach out, absorbing information that slowly clarified and sharpened his thoughts. It was still dark, and he realized the damn blindfold was still on. He moaned softly, shifting on the ground. He lay face down on his coat; he could still smell the sweat and grit of New Mexico. He felt cooler. No longer felt like he was melting from the inside out. His head wasn’t throbbing, and even the burn on his back had lessened in pain. The cool stone floor felt nice on his bare stomach. He also realized that his pants and boots were damp and he drying close to a fire that crackled nearby. His brother’s trench coat was draped over him. Stan’s stomach twisted with anxiety.

“Ford?” he called weakly. His voice was hoarse, weak from disuse and sickness. No answer. He didn’t hear anything for a moment, and he strained his ears to listen. Something scribbling over paper. No doubt Ford was writing in his journal. 

“Sixer, come on,” Stan tried again, hoping to get him to answer. Ford’s scribbling didn’t cease, and Stan heard him humming tunelessly to himself. Stan was getting scared now. He didn’t know what was going on with this stupid cloth around his eyes. 

“Okay, that’s _it_ , Ford,” he rasped. “I’m sick of this. I’m taking this damn thing off-” 

“NO!” Ford screeched. Stan was caught off guard as Ford grabbed his wrists and yanked them violently to his sides. “NO, NO, NO!”  Ford was screaming in his face. Stan froze at brother’s total loss of control. 

“Don’t take that off, don’t fucking TOUCH it! They’ll see you, they’ll know… Don’t, don’t don’t,” Ford pleaded, leaning his head onto Stan’s shoulder.

Stan’s heart hammered as he listen to his brother frantically beg. He felt overwhelmed, vestiges of fever still clinging to him. “Ford…” he whispered unsteadily. “What’s gotten into you?”

“P-Please listen,” Ford implored, hands cupping his face. “J-Just trust me… Stan…. t-they can’t take you… I won’t let them.”

“You’re  scarin’ me, Sixer.” 

“Stan, trust me… please… I c-can’t lose you…. I just got you back,” he whimpered. Stan inhaled sharply, something tightening in his chest. 

“I… I’ll leave it on,” Stan told him, voice tremulous. 

“Promise?”

“Y-Yes. I promise.”

Ford was silent for a moment, hands still on Stan’s face. 

Then he let out a breath. “Okay, o-okay. Good,” he said, satisfied.  He moved away, and Stan heard him take out the journal, flipping through the pages. A pen clicked rhythmically. “Good.” Ford resumed his tuneless humming in time with his pen.

Stan sat there, still shaken to his core. He drew his legs up to his chest and hugged himself, listening to his brother and the crackling of the fire.


	3. Luctus

**Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey**

The energy of the boardwalk filled the evening air as Stanley darted through the crowds of vacationers and beach-goers. Stanley was still short for his age, and many people didn’t notice him weaving expertly around their legs. 

“H-Hey, Stan, where’re you taking us?” Ford panted behind him. 

“I told ya! It’s a surprise,” Stan grinned mischievously. He yanked his brother behind a game booth. 

Stan peered around the corner at the building across the boardwalk, a sea of people filing around it. It was an attraction called the Weird Shack, a funhouse that was designed to look like an askew building, something out of Alice in Wonderland. Paintings of strange creatures canvassed the exterior. Images of demons, monsters and flame.  Both Stan and Ford were not tall enough to enter, so they could only admire how bizarre it looked from the outside. They always thought it was a dumb rule.  Their mother explained it being too scary and confusing for little kids to go through, which was ridiculous,  they’d explored caves that were probably creepier than the inside of that attraction.

“We’re gonna sneak into the Weird Shack!”  Stan announced, gesturing to the building grandly. 

“Stan, we’re going to get caught, then Dad’s going to kill us,” Ford whined, wringing his hands. 

“Dad ain’t gonna be hacked off,  'cause we won’t get caught.”

The funhouse attendant gathered people’s tickets, a bored look on his face. It was mid-summer, tourists and vacationers were at their peak, long lines forming around many of the rides and games. It could act as a great cover for two eleven-year-olds to sneak underneath everyone’s noses, unnoticed.

“We can get past this guy!” Stan said confidently and bounced on the balls of his heels. Breaking the rules gave him a thrill that his stringent household and school never provided. 

“We have to get tickets first! There’s a line!” Ford fretted. 

“Nah, where’s the fun in that! We don’t need no tickets, we’re sneakin’ in!”

“Stan, this will get us in trouble.”

“Look if it makes ya feel better, if we _do_ get caught, I’ll take the fall for it _again_ , okay?”

“I don’t know…” Ford tugged at the hems of his shirt. Stan rolled his eyes in impatience. 

“I thought ya liked to explore, Ford, why’re ya scared? Where’s that ‘go where no man has gone before’ attitude? Didn’t ya want to be a space explorer or somethin’? How ya gonna do that if ya can’t even sneak into a funhouse?”

“Urgh… this is different. But… I am _not_ scared!” Ford pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and crossed his arms with a glare. “Explorers just have to think everything through. I _will_ go with you, on one condition!”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Stan asked distractedly, still eyeing the funhouse with excitement.  

“You can’t ignore me! You always do what you want to do, and don’t listen to me!” Ford glared at Stan. “When we’re in there, promise me you’ll listen?” 

Stan just grinned and punched him in the arm.“You got it, Poindexter.” 

“Good. Now, how do we get in?” 

“That’s the spirit! Jus’ let me do the sneakin’, you do the thinkin’”

Both boys crossed the boardwalk,  and hunkered under the tourists standing in line to get into the funhouse.  Stan eyed the attendant, waiting for the moment to sneak by, but so far, no dice. This may have been more difficult then he originally assumed. He looked up at a lady in front of him, and got an idea.

Glancing back at Ford, he waggled his eyebrows and whispered, “Get ready to run!” Ford just looked back at him in confusion. 

Stan gave a hard tug on her purse,  then scampered to her other side. The woman whirled around and glared at the person behind her, who happened to be a surly looking teenage boy. 

“What’s your bag, man? You trying to steal my purse?”

“What? No! I didn’t touch it!” 

The woman gave the teen a hard shove, and an altercation suddenly began,  just as Stan was hoping. The ticket attendant jumped from his post to put a stop to it. Prime time to make their move!

“Come on, let’s jet,” Stan whispered, grabbing Ford’s hand and they both scampered into the funhouse among the chaos, unnoticed. Once they were inside, they stopped to catch their breaths. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” Ford giggled. 

“Heh, I’m a master sneaker-arounder!” Stan declared proudly. They both were flushed with excitement from their rule-breaking, and now were eager to look around the interior of the place. They began to walk through, and Stan suddenly smacked headlong into a wall.  He rubbed his head and glanced up in confusion, then realized they stumbled into a hall of mirrors. It was slightly disorienting to see the amount of mirrors and reflections, it created the illusion of an endless maze. 

“Woah, this place cool,” Stan commented with a low whistle. 

“Yeah, the optical illusions in here are great.”

“Instead of just being a four- eyes, you get to be a million eyes,” Stan laughed, and pointed to the hundreds of reflections of themselves, staring back at them. 

“Spoooky…all these nerds are lookin’ right at you.” 

Ford snorted, slugging Stan in the shoulder. “Haha, very funny. Hey check it out, that mirror makes your ugly head even uglier.”

The mirror in front of them distorted and squashed their bodies into amusing shapes. Stan grinned wide enough to show off the new gap in his teeth, and Ford wiggled his fingers in front of a mirror. They spent a while laughing and making faces in front of it before moving on. Maneuvering  through the maze was difficult, and it took a couple of tries not to walk face first into a mirror. Rooms further in the funhouse consisted of spooky props of skeletons, and one even had a demon cooking up a pot of humans.

“Hah, these things are so cheesy,” Stan laughed, poking a skeleton in the head. 

“These aren’t even scary! I can’t believe kids aren’t allowed in here,” Ford commented, as he leaned forward to examine a clawed hand sticking out of the wall. 

That’s when a backdoor caught Stan’s eye. A sign with red paint trying to look like blood read, “Employees only”. Stan glanced around and grabbed his brother’s hand, pulling him to the door.

“Stan, are you serious?”

“Aw, come on, Sixer!” 

“We already aren’t supposed to be here!”

Stan crossed his arms and pouted. “Well, you’re no fun. Jus’ wait here, then.” 

Stan darted off, disregarding his brother’s frantic whispers, and pushed open the door. He was on the other side for a few seconds until Ford pushed through next to him, panting and glaring.

“I _told_ you not to ignore me, Stan! You never _listen_ ,” he nearly shouted. Stan waved his hands in shushing motions. “Keep it down, Poindexter. I said ya didn’t have to follow!”

“Well,” Ford straightened his glasses and tilted his chin up.  "Pines stick together. So you gave me no choice.“   
Stan smiled and slapped his brother’s shoulder. "Can’t go anywhere without the brains! Come on.” 

The back of the building wasn’t technically as interesting without all the props and mirrors, but there was still the thrill of exploring a place they shouldn’t. Wooden boards were piled up everywhere, it seemed like the back of the funhouse was under construction. Stan noticed a small set of stairs and climbed them. At the top, he poked his head into open air, and realized they were on the roof of the funhouse. He had a clear view of the length of the boardwalk, and the beach and ocean beyond that. The sunset left spectacular purple and pink streaks in the sky, and the lights of the games and rides were beginning to flick on as it became darker.

“Sixer, check this out!”

Ford climbed up next to him. “Wow, this view is amazing! We can see nearly everything here… I mean, it’s not as good as the ferris wheel, or the roller coaster…”

“Hey, but it’s kind of cool to have a secret view like this. Aren’t ya glad we came up here?”

“Yeah this is pretty neat,” Ford agreed reluctantly, still scanning the boardwalk and the people below them. 

“What’re you kids doing up here,” a male voice said behind them. They both spun around to see a grown-up. He was taller then average, and dressed neatly with a button-down shirt. Stan guessed he was one of the employees at the boardwalk, but he wasn’t exactly sure. He didn’t see a nametag on him.

“Uh, we were just leaving,” Ford told the man quickly. 

“Yeah, we got lost… we was lookin’ for our parents,”  Stan added, hoping to evoke some pity. Stan learned to play-up looking pathetic when he got in trouble. He could give a really good “lost puppy” expression if he had to, and adults would let him off the hook more easily. Unfortunately, it didn’t work this time. 

“Your parents?” the man snorted.  "Come on, I’m not that dumb. You were getting into some mischief.“

"I-I promise, we didn’t mean to-” Ford stammered.

“Hey, hey it’s fine,” the man said easily, flashing a smile at them. “I know what that’s like.”

“Wow, really? You’re lettin’ us off the hook?” Stan asked hopefully. 

“Sure! In fact, I can show you two around back here!” 

This was turning out better then Stan was expecting. They didn’t get in trouble and this guy was offering to show them around. Stan was about to follow, but Ford caught him by his shirt. 

“Stan, let’s go.” Ford said quietly. His hand gripped hard at his shirt, nearly white-knuckled.

“Come on Ford, he said-”

“ _Let’s go_!” Ford hissed. He turned to the man, smiling uneasily, and took a step back. “Look, me and my brother have to get going. Our parents are expecting us any minute…”

The man crossed his arms and stood right in the way  of exit. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Before Stan could blink, Ford had grabbed one of the wooden planks and swung it as hard as he could, smashing it into the man’s ankle. He let out a shout and reached down to clutch it in pain. Ford shoved him and grabbed Stan’s hand, yanking him toward the exit. Stan stumbled and one knee scraped hard against the wooden floor. Ford pulled him up, and slammed open the door. Stan thought that maybe the man grabbed at him as he slid out behind his brother, but he wasn’t sure. 

Both brothers dashed through the rest of the maze, running into mirrors, dead ends, tourists, too afraid to look behind them to see if they were being pursued.

They burst back out into the boardwalk and crowds, finally taking a moment to catch their collective breath. It was only then Stan felt something wet on his leg. He looked down and saw blood dribbling from his knee where he scraped it, soaking into his white socks. Stan was used to various degrees of scrapes and bruises, especially considering how much he and his brother explored, but this was the first time the pain actually made tears prick into the corners of his eyes.

“Stan, your knee!” Ford exclaimed, when he caught sight of it as well. “Are you okay?”

“It really hurts,” Stan whispered, too scared to move it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the amount of blood pooling into his sneaker. People had begun to gather around them, some asking if he was okay.

“We’re going home, _now_ ,” Ford snapped, taking his arm.  Stan yanked it away.

“Dad’s gonna kill me,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. Ford paused for a moment, then winked at him. “Then dad won’t find out.”   
-  
It was lucky that their apartment was only about three blocks away. Stan had to lean on Ford most of the way, limping in pain. They quietly made their way up the stairs, and it sounded like their parents were still in their bedroom. 

“Cost is clear,” Ford whispered. They quickly snuck through the living room and into the bathroom. Stan noticed he was leaving blood on the carpet and winced, hoping his father wouldn’t notice right away. Maybe Stan could clean it before he saw.

Stan closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, knee throbbing painfully. Even though it still hurt, he felt slightly better now that he and his brother were safe and back at home. 

“That was incredible back there, Sixer,” he said. Ford was rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. Neither of them had spoken about the incident with the man on their way back.“Smashin’ that guy’s ankle? Usually I’m the one who would do somethin’ like that…”

“Guess I picked up a few tricks from you then,” Ford replied distractedly. He wasn’t really looking at Stan as he handed him a washcloth. “Here, hold this on the scrape.” Stan complied silently, and watched his brother with a slight frown.

“What’s wrong?” 

Ford stopped and ran a hand over his face, smudging up his glasses. “Stan… you really scared me. Ignoring me during our dumb adventures is one thing…” 

Stan was about to protest at the term “dumb adventures” but his brother continued. 

"But you didn’t listen when I said we should leave, you wanted to go with that guy… Strangers can hurt you… I know you think I’m paranoid about everything, but I don’t care right now.”

Stan hadn’t really considered that.  To him, it was another part of their little misadventure, but now he felt a strange unpleasant knot in his stomach when he thought about the encounter again. And suddenly it seemed extremely out of place from their usual explorations underneath the boardwalk, or coves near the pier. He just had a weird feeling that something bad could’ve happened, and Ford had potentially just saved both their lives. The feeling in his stomach worsened. He held the washcloth in place like Ford had told him to. 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“That’s… okay. Next time… just trust me more, okay?”

“'Kay.”

Stan moved the washcloth, which had dampened with blood. Ford peered at his knee. 

“Well, looks like the bleeding mostly stopped. That’s good. I’m going to put some Peroxide on it.”

“What’s that?”

“Um, it helps makes sure it’s not infected. It’ll probably sting, but only for a few moments.”

Stan just nodded as his brother applied it to his cut with a cotton swap. Stan hissed and squeezed his eyes closed. Ford hadn’t been kidding about the stuff stinging. 

“Just a few more seconds, Stan,” Ford reassured, seeing him flinch in pain. “Annnnd there. Done.” 

Stan looked down to see a band-aid plastered over the wound. 

“That should work for now. Hopefully, Dad won’t-”

Just then the bathroom door opened and Filbrick stood there, face obscured under the brim of his bowler hat. Ford and Stan froze, eyes widening at their father. 

“Stanley, are you bleeding?”

Stan just nodded, hoping that he wouldn’t ask how he got hurt. 

“Well, you bled on the carpet. Clean it up. Now.”

Ford spoke up. “He’s still having trouble walking…”

“Did I ask you? Don’t talk back to me,” Filbrick warned. Ford fell silent, eyes falling to the ground. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you hear me Stanley? Go clean it up. Your mother is going to have a fit. We just got this carpet. It ain’t cheap.”

“Yes, sir,” Stan answered, and slid off the toilet, wincing. He glanced back at Ford and mouthed “thank you”. Ford just gave him a worried smile back. He had picked up the washcloth, and blood leaked onto his hands.   
-

Stan woke with a start, the memory still clinging to his mind like gum underneath a table. It took a few moments to orient himself, and the images of his childhood slowly faded. The cave, the blindfold, his brother. Right. He hadn’t been paying attention and he had drifted off. He heard Ford shuffling around to his left, restlessly muttering words Stan couldn’t understand. Stan crawled toward the sound, until his hands connected with Ford’s coat. 

“Ford.” 

His brother didn’t seem to hear him, and continued with his distracted gibberish. Stan found Ford’s arm and gripped it. He was trembling. Stan placed his other hand on Ford’s back. He felt Ford moving back and forth, and he realized he was rocking himself. Stan felt  something cold and twisted drop into the pit of his stomach.  Stan had seen this behavior before, in back alleys, jail cells, and once, a mental institution. Usually from withdrawal, but in other cases , the only coping mechanism a person had to deal with the invisible enemies and voices that existed in their head. But this enemy existed around them, piercing into Ford, sucking out his life and will. 

“FORD,” Stan begged. “Ford, please. Snap out of it.”

“S-Stan?” Ford whispered, voice creaking. Stan felt a jolt of relief that his brother answered him. _Oh thank god… he’s still responsive. He can hear me._

“I’m so sorry I fell asleep, I should have been there, I’m so sorry…” The guilt was overwhelming that he could just leave his brother in such a wretched state by himself. 

“N-No… you needed rest… still sick.” 

“We’ve got to get out of here, Ford, you ain’t gonna last much longer…”

Ford shuddered under his hands. “I’m f-failing you… I’m s-sorry…” 

“You’re not,” Stan told him firmly, past the awful lump in his throat. “You’re not failin’ anyone. We’re gettin’ out of here.” 

“It’s all my fault…” Ford moaned. “M-My fault… I built it… built the portal…”

“Shh. Stop it. Right now, we got to focus on findin’ the exit.”

“I c-can’t….”

“Yes you _can_ , Sixer. I’m here with you every step of the way.” 

The despair that had overtaken Ford was palpable. Stan didn’t need to see him to know, he felt it radiating from his twin like a living entity. Stan curled his arms tight around his brother, trying desperately to comfort him. 

“I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Okay?”

Ford made a soft distressed sound, raising a hand to clutch Stan’s arm. “Y-You have to… I won’t last.”

“Stop talkin’ like that,” Stan barked. “We’re gettin’ outta here together!”

“We don’t know… which way we’re going. We’re lost.”

“If we stay here, we die, if we leave, we die. I’d rather take a gamble and try and search for a way out, rather than wither up and die here while those fuckin’ monsters wring your brain out like a sponge!” 

It terrified Stan to leave the location where they’d found water, but water could only last them so long without any food. And Ford couldn’t stay here.

“Look, I know you don’t like it, Ford, but you have to let me lead us for awhile.” His fingers twitched toward the blindfold. “I can help you.” 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Ford growled, in a deep and dangerous voice that chilled Stan to the bone. Still, he was determined.

“Ford, god _dammit_ , this is _killin_ ’ you,” Stan shouted, his voice breaking. “And I’m not gonna sit here and wait for it to happen!” 

His hands went up again to grab the blindfold, but Ford smashed into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Stan fell backwards but quickly stumbled to his feet, trying to put some distance between himself and Ford. It didn’t work . Ford’s hands plastered themselves to his face, holding down the blindfold to make sure Stan couldn’t move it. Stan clawed at them, trying to detach himself from his brother’s grip. 

“YOU NEVER _LISTEN_ TO ME,” Ford howled, squeezing his hands tighter. “They’ll r-rip you to pieces… m-mind and soul… don’t you understand!?  What t-they’ll _do_ … it’s w-worse than death…”

“I DON’T CARE,” Stan bellowed. “I’m sick of being worthless, sick of not being able to protect you!”  
“Don’t let this all be for nothing!”

They struggled for another few moments, Stan trying to throw his brother off, but the fever left him weak, and coupled with the fatigue and stress, he wasn’t a match for his brother’s frenzied madness. 

“Ford, LET ME-”

“ I- I can’t let you see!”

“Stop it!"  

"YOU CAN’T SEE!” Ford screamed, and his voice echoed off the walls.   
They both stopped struggling, and stood in silence, breathing raggedly. 

“Y-You won’t change your mind,” Ford muttered, as though partly to himself.

“Ford, please,” Stan begged through clenched teeth. “Let me help you. I can’t protect you with this damn thing on.” Another silence. Stan thought he heard Ford whimper.

“I… I know how you can help me,” Ford told him, his voice now much calmer than he was moments before.

Stan felt a wave of relief. Maybe he had finally broken through to Ford, and if he could do _anything_ at this point he wouldn’t feel so useless. “What is it?”

“Can you lay down?”

“Okay…” Stan agreed uncertainly. “Why?”

“I need to check something, p-please I need you to do this. It will help me. ”

Stan was exhausted, mind swirling with confusion, but Ford’s voice was breaking with terror, and Stan would agree to whatever he asked if it could ease some of that fear. 

“Sure thing, bro,” Stan replied.  "Anything if it’ll help.“

A short breathless noise, almost like a laugh, or a sob. Stan couldn’t tell.

"On your back, please, like looking at the stars.” 

Stan shuffled down to the ground. He heard Ford moving around, and then felt soft fabric slide under his head. Ford must have removed his coat for him to rest his head on. 

Stan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and settled himself down on the makeshift pillow. A gut feeling told him something wasn’t right. Apprehension clenched in his stomach. He usually always listened to his gut feelings but… _This is_ Ford _. Your twin brother, for Pete’s sake. He’s not going to hurt you._

The minutes went by and he heard some more noises, the click of his lighter, fabric ripping. A snap of something which Stan assumed was Ford breaking wood. Ford was muttering to himself, his half-thoughts reaching Stan’s ears.

“I-It’ll be clean… no blood… just need to…just enough d-damage to…” 

But in between that was Ford’s increasingly distressed breathing, punctuated by small whimpers. The feeling Stan had was getting worse. “Ford, what’s goin’ on?”

“S-Stan, be still…please don’t move.” Stan felt his brother kneel next to him, smelled the sweat and fear on him, and something warm was crackling  close to his face. Stan was breathing hard now, sweat beading on his own forehead, and it wasn’t from the heat from the flame. It was close enough to actually make his skin flinch. He involuntarily shrunk back.

“Shh, shh, Stan, k-keep still.” Stan felt his brother’s six-fingered hand suddenly press down hard on his forehead, holding his head immobile against the ragged coat. The flame came close to his cheek again, and Stan shuddered and twitched under Ford’s hand, but he held him firmly.

“Ford, buddy… wait, please…stop.” 

“You can’t see, S-Stan,” Ford stuttered. His hand felt clammy against his forehead. 

“I _know_ I can’t… I have this blindfold on. I thought that was the whole point. I can take it off… let me just help you, Ford…” 

“No, you d-don’t understand,” Ford moaned, his grip becoming impossibly tight on Stan’s head. 

It felt like his heart was trying to scramble out of his rib cage. The primal instinct of wanting to fight for his life, to flee and hide, which he had gotten to know so well from surviving on the streets had come back full force. But it didn’t make sense. That happened when the police were chasing him, or when bad people wanted to hurt him. _  
_

_It’s Ford, it’s Ford, it’s FORD, he’s not going to hurt you… Right?  
_

“Come on, Sixer… we can talk this out…”

“N-n-no, Stan.” Ford seemed to waver at his childhood nickname, a sharp sob escaping him. “You. Can’t. See.” 

Then in one horrific moment, Stan fully realized the intent of his brother, and what his instincts were warning him, but he chose to ignore. The blindfold was pulled up over his left eye, and there was a shock of light, covering every aspect of his vision. Heat and light, too hot TOO HOT-

“ _FORD!_ ” Stan shrieked, oh god, he had never felt such pain- 

The only thought he had was a searing poker was jammed into his eye, and he dimly realized that was exactly what happened. Ford’s thumb forced Stan’s left eyelid open, and he pressed the flame down. Stan’s arms automatically jerked upwards, to put a stop to the terrible pain, but Ford legs were now pinning them to his sides like steel, knees digging into the his arms. Ordinarily, Stan may have been able to throw him off, but his fever had left him weak and shaking. An aching deep agony, comparable to the anguish in his eye, took hold of him. Betrayal and grief awakened in his heart,  and it immobilized him on the cold floor, even as his cries increased with intensity and panic. 

Distantly, Stan heard his twin bawling, pleading for him to stay still , then in the next breath trying to soothe him, saying it will all be over soon. And despite the undiluted horror in his voice, Ford held him down with a steadiness that could only come from experience, as if he was performing one of his experiments. One hand pushed down firmly on Stan’s head, the thumb continuing to hold open Stan’s eyelid. The other hand with a terrible sort of meticulousness, held the flame to Stan’s eye, burning  with precision. 

Stan’s howls of pain sounded inhuman to his own ears, and it was all he could do as suffering gripped every part of his person. His nerves vibrated in terror, and he knew his eyesight was slowly being stolen from him. He no longer had presence of mind to beg, to reason, to curse, all thoughts had fled from the piercing white agony. 

The flame was removed from his left eye, and Ford was sobbing something about checking dilation, before crying hysterical apologies. Stan barely had time to recover, to breathe through his screaming, before the process was repeated with his other eye.

Stan was far away from himself now, the pain was there but removed, and it felt like he was laying at the bottom of the ocean. There was someone screaming in the distance, but he lay there, detached from everything. Trying not to feel a thing.  

Then he came back to himself, and realized that the fire was gone from his eyes. The blindfold was gone too. Yet it was as if it was still there, it was so dark, though his eyes were wide open. The damage still scorched and blistered, the feeling of embers erupting in his skull. Stan realized he was still screaming and he heard his own voice echo off nearby silent stones. His throat was torn and ragged, but he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t. 

Trembling arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, Stan felt soft fabric on his cheek. Ford. His brother. His brother who had just hurt him, causing the fragile bridge of trust between them to shatter. The deep gaping rift opened again.

Stan realized they were both wailing, heaving and sobbing against each other. The hands that had just blinded him attempted to soothe him. Ford rubbed Stan’s back, and shakily stroked his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of Stan’s head, and he was crying apologies into his hair, gibberish, it didn’t make sense, nothing made sense. 

“ _Get away_ ,” were Stan’s first coherent words through the onslaught of suffering. “ _GET AWAY FROM ME_.” 

He lashed out, a frantic hysteria taking hold him. He bit and scratched, desperately trying to pull away from his brother, not wanting to be touched, to never let anyone near him ever again. But Ford hung fast, his body shaking with torn, shuddering sobs.

“FUCK YOU,” Stan screeched, thrashing and kicking out for freedom. “You don’t get to fuckin’ _cry! YOU DON’T_ …” 

His fit of cursing and vitriol dissolved into utterly heart-broken moaning and weeping. His brother had him in a crushing bear hug, all the fight went out of him, and he went limp. He couldn’t fight anymore. 

“S-Stan… oh, Stan, it’s okay…. it’s o-okay that you hate me… it’s okay.” 

“Fuck you,” Stan whimpered miserably into his shoulder, his tears were painful. Everything was painful. 

“I-It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m s-sorry…” Ford made strange stammering hushing noises, as if trying to comfort a child

“Why,” Stan wept bitterly. “W-Why did you do this to me?”

“The only way to s-save you from them… You ca-can’t see, you can’t see anything…. N-Now you’ll be safe, understand? You can get us out… and it’ll all be o-okay…” 

“Ford…” Stan sobbed, everything around him shattering, coming apart at the seams. He hated himself for clinging to his brother despite everything he had done to him. “I c-can’t… oh god, I can’t s-s….”

Ford held onto him like a vice. He softly chanted reassurances, as if it was the only thing he knew how to do. “It’s okay… it’s okay…” 

For an eternity they both stayed like that, mourning, broken, and lost in the omnipresent darkness.


	4. Anamnesis

The dark was an aching all-pervading reality. Stan tried to deny it, to reason that it would lift in a moment. He would see the face of his brother, smiling and at peace, as he was years ago when they were children. But the moments stretched on and Stan still had his face buried in Ford’s shirt, smelled the dim traces of remaining fabric softener, now choked with sweat. He couldn’t lie to himself that it would all be okay.  The excruciating pain covered his eyes like a mask. With every heartbeat, it seemed the pain throbbed with it, a constant reminder of what his brother had done.  Stan could force his resilience into almost any situation, his own willpower and strength of mind had dragged him through countless dire situations. But now that was extinguished within him. Stan had stopped weeping a long time ago, his body was empty, his soul was heart-sick. There was nothing inside of him but a hollow gaping void.

Ford still had him in an embrace, and it was the only thing that seemed real in the pitch black. Stan felt like a rag doll, completely limp, arms useless at his sides. That was what he was now. Useless. Completely worthless, more than he had ever been in his whole life. His brother had once and for all sealed his fate of being the invalid twin. Stan didn’t know how to feel, or what to do. He didn’t know whether to feel anger, sorrow, betrayal, confusion… all he knew was Ford did this to him. 

Out of everyone who had ever wanted to hurt him, his own twin brother was the one who managed to hurt him the most. And it wasn’t his eyes, or the searing pain in his nerves that hurt. Ford had shattered the trust the two had finally, _finally_ began to share after ten long arduous years. He had burned it away into nothing.

Stan finally stirred, attempting to pull away from Ford. His brother tightened his grip, and it was only then that Stan realized he was softly whimpering out apologies, and words that were jumbled together in a stream of tortured consciousness. Why hadn’t he heard it before? Was he so lost in his own misery? Stan tried to pull Ford’s desperate grip off himself again. His brother’s ramblings intensified, his voice growing louder with panic, and clutched at him tighter. 

A sudden wave of revulsion and anger flooded through him, and he realized he didn’t want Ford near him. His limp hands curled into fists, and they shook with tension. The anguish in his eyes flared with a renewed vigor, as if reminding him of the torture Ford had just put him through.  A burst of unbridled fury overtook Stan. He let out a savage snarl and his fist connected with Ford’s jaw. Ford let go of him with a small cry of surprise. Stan scrambled backwards and lashed out with his leg, feeling it connect with Ford’s chest, forcing the breath out of his lungs before he hit the ground with a soft thud. An animalistic part of Stan want to continue his attack, use his fists to pound him in the face, to kick him while he was down. Instead he sat there, panting heavily, his hands still curled into fists, blinking his pain-filled sightless eyes. Ford didn’t to move from where  he fell. He lay a few feet away, wheezing for breath and softly weeping. 

The sudden vicious rage within Stan died down almost immediately. Numbness spread through him again, only punctuated by the incessant nearly unbearable pain within his eyes.  He crawled a few feet away from his brother. Turning his body away from Ford, he rested his cheek on the cold stone ground. It felt nice on his face, a relieving contrast to his burning eyes. Stan stared at the dimness before him, sore eyes trying to catch a glimpse of a moving shadow, a shaft of light, _anything_. A logical incessant voice in the back of his mind reminded him that his sight was gone. It was gone. _Gone, gone, gone.  Gone and forgotten._

He was blind. He hadn’t fully admitted it to himself until now, still in stubborn denial. Now the reality fully sank into the depths of his chest like an anchor.  Stan slowly curled in on himself, until he was in a tight fetal position, arms wrapped around his nauseated stomach. He lay there and listened to his brother’s sobs, almost wishing he still had the energy to cry with him. His mind filled with darkness again, matching his vision

Time must have passed, because Ford was speaking again. Well, as much as incoherent babbling could be speaking.  It was all forlorn apologies, stammered out in between terrified descriptions of darkness and demons.

“S-Stanley… p-please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, don’t go… they’re here, they won’t leave, I-I can’t…” Ford spoke, fear and madness flooding from him. Stan didn’t respond. He continued to lay facing away from Ford, unable to do anything but listen.

“Thousands of eyes…. t-they keep w-watching… I-I’m so _sorry,_ I had to or… y-you’re okay now… but  I-I can’t g-get away…” 

Then the half-formed babbling ceased. Ford became eerily quiet.  When he spoke again his voice was hushed monotone and distant, it was as if he had descended further into the abyss that consumed him. 

“It’s just shadows… it begins small, a stain growing on white, until it consumes, contorts, violates, around and inside. Nothing but eyes and streams of blood and fear… dreams of fire, soundless screaming…”

Stan felt an icy horror creep down his back, as he listened to the last remnants of his brother’s mind. 

“Crawling hands… fields burning with darkness…. a head with no face…. hollow sockets and tears of blood … tendrils touching, corrupting, imparting knowledge, death…. unable to move, as you are torn apart, bit by bit… snapping tendons, devouring,  distorting your soul to become one of them…”

A part of him wanted to cover his ears, to drown out the voice that wasn’t his brother’s, it couldn’t be. This couldn’t be him. But another, stronger part of him made him turn around toward the voice. Despite the pain stabbing his eyes, and the rage he had previously felt at Ford,  he began to move slowly toward him.  His brother gave no indication of seeing him move, and he continued his monotonic dialogue, as if he were a puppet. 

“…They drink you all, Stan, draw sustenance, the bones, the wailing, nothing’s left… nothing’s left… ” 

Stan reached through empty air until his hand found his brother’s clammy, trembling one. He curled his fingers around it, gently squeezing, unsure if it would encourage, but he had to try. 

“I’m left. I’m still here. They won’t take me away from you.” 

Ford let out a deep shuddering gasp, as if emerging from underneath the water. 

“S-Stan?” he whimpered.

“I’m here.” 

“S-Safe… y-you’re s-still…”

“They didn’t get me. They won’t get rid of me so easily.” 

 "Y-You don’t… h-hate me?“ His tone was childlike now, a terrified uncertainty to his question. Fury slowly awakened within him again, but it wasn’t directed at Ford this time. Whatever those monsters were, they were the ones who were hurting his brother, and driving his mind into dark places where Stan couldn’t reach him. They had reduced his brother to this miserable state.  Ford had done the only thing he could think of to save him with the last of his sanity. It didn’t make it okay, but now for the first time, Stan was beginning to truly grasp _why_ he did it. Honestly, he had no idea what he would have done in Ford’s position. Maybe he would have done the exact same thing to protect Ford. And he realized Ford had been staving off the insanity as long as he could, long enough to protect Stan from meeting the same fate, in a final desperate act. 

"I don’t hate you,” Stan replied. Ford buried his face in Stan’s arm, and gulped a few breaths before speaking again. 

“I-I’m so sorry… th-they would have… ” 

“I know.”

Ford’s quivering voice spoke tentatively into the air. “W-Will you… f-forgive me?” 

There was a long unbearable silence before Stan could bring himself to speak. “I don’t know,” Stan answered, wearily. His reply was truthful. He didn’t know if he could forgive Ford.  The searing hurt in his eyes was a constant reminder of  how deep the treachery of trust went. 

“O-Okay.” 

Stan sighed, blinking his sightless eyes, and winced at the motion. Some sort of discharge was leaking from his left eye, and he really didn’t want to know what it was. It took an effort to constantly remind himself not to reach up and touch his eyes. Touching them would aggravate them more. His eyelids were crusted with some sort of pus. Every few moments, pain shot along his nerves to the inside of his skull. It was enough to make a sharp cry bubble up in his throat, but Stan bit his tongue, breathing hard through his nose for a moment.

“Ford,” he began hoarsely. He shuddered and tried to shake the memories of his brother forcing his head down, and the shock and despair of the pain he had inflicted. Betrayal tore at his heart again, and Stan clutched his chest, as if that could help soothe the pain. “I don’t think I can forgive you.” 

Ford didn’t reply for a long moment. “Okay… that’s okay. I’m s-sorry,” he whispered sadly. “Th-they were… looking at you. I-I had to p-protect you. T-take your eyes f-first… th-they can’t…hurt you n-now. I-It’s a g-game… they’re l-laughing…” 

_A game? Was that just Ford’s ruined mind talking, or were these things actually playing a sick game with them?_ Stan sat there a moment longer, Ford clutching his arm. 

Then, hardening his resolve, he straightened up. First things first, he had to figure out how to help his brother. He knew that he was in no condition to lead them around this cave. Stan placed his hands on the ground, and began to feel around in the immediate area. After a few minutes of searching, his hand came in contact with a soft cloth. The blindfold. He picked it up, and turned to where he heard Ford breathing. Without a word, he felt in the darkness until he found Ford’s face, and then proceeded to wrap the fabric around his eyes. Ford fell completely still, and emitted no sound of protest. Stan doubted the blindfold would help at all. Those demons had already seeped into Ford’s consciousness, and they were probably taunting him even when he closed his eyes. Still, it made Stan feel better for the moment. 

_We’re getting out of here. Even if the blind has to lead the fucking blind_. 

He would need something to maneuver around with. He thought back to the sound of snapping wood he had heard, after Ford told him to lay down. It twisted his stomach now, when he thought about what Ford used it for. But he realized that meant there were probably more branches around here, and maybe he could use one as a walking stick. 

He began to move away and Ford suddenly gripped his arm again, silently begging him not to leave. Stan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling. He reminded himself that this wasn’t his brother’s fault. Since Ford had blinded him (Stan felt a shiver run through him), Ford  lost whatever remaining rational thoughts he had.  It had utterly broken him. His behavior seemed to have regressed into the mindset of a child. The way he clung to Stan like he was an overgrown teddy bear, his terrified ramblings and whimpers, drawing close to Stan for comfort. It was deeply unsettling, and a terrified part of Stan wondered if his brother’s mind was lost forever. But he couldn’t think about it now. He couldn’t. 

“Okay. Just… hang onto me. I need to find a branch.” Stan was still on his hands and knees, and slowly moved forward, sweeping his hands in front of him until he finally touched the base of a tree.  His traced up the strange gnarled shape until he found a decently sized branch. He broke it off with a sharp crack, and weighed it in his hands. It would have to do for now. 

“We’re gonna get the fuck out of here, even if it kills me.” He wasn’t about to let everything both of them went through be for nothing. Ford blinded him so they would have one last chance to live. With every throb of pain in his eyes, he reminded himself what it was for. Later, when this was all over, he would figure out how he felt. Now, this was just like the other countless times during the last ten years where he had to survive. 

“Keep holding my arm.” 

Ford sniffled, but his hand curled more securely on Stan’s forearm. Stan swept the stick out in front of himself and began, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, to move forward. 

“You got us this far, Ford. I’m gonna take us the rest of the way.”  
-  
They continued onward through the cave, and Stan was grateful that he had thought to make a walking stick. The sound of their footsteps and the clank of the stick echoed on the stone walls. Ford was quieter than before, but would still mumble fearfully to himself. Sometimes his words would jumble together with panic, and then would trail off into silence.  Stan knew that even if his brother had the blindfold off, he wouldn’t be able to help navigate through the cave in his condition. Hell, he would probably walk into a ditch and barely notice what had happened. So Stan remained quiet, straining his ears, listening intently beyond his brother’s mutterings, the distant drip of cave water and the echoes of their footsteps.  But there wasn’t much else to hear, or even feel. No slight breeze or change of air pressure. There was nothing but them, and aching pain of his eyes. A hopeless inner voice began to grow in volume, but he pushed it down. He wasn’t going to stop, he was going to find a way out or die trying. 

That was when his walking stick, instead of making contact with the ground, whooshed through space and empty air. Stan let out a startled cry, the imbalance nearly causing him to stumble into the emptiness. He heard rocks crumble beneath his feet, and he fell backwards, taking Ford to the ground with him. They both sat still for a moment, and Stan heard the rocks bouncing down the walls of the crevasse, the echoes slowly become more distant. 

Stan shuddered, and used the stick to feel in front of himself again. It was a steep drop off. _That was way too close_ , Stan thought as he shakily stood up, helping Ford to do the same. There had to be a better way to maneuver his way through the cave. 

He thought for a moment, tapping the walking stick on the stone ground. The echoes of the noise bounced back at him through the large empty space. An idea formed in his mind, and he continued to tap, this time paying closer attention to the echoes. He changed direction, making sure he gave the cliff a wide berth. Continuing to tap, he sidled forward, ears straining to listen. Then he stopped short. The echo wasn’t as resonate and it actually sounded shorter in tone, as if it had bounced off  something right in front of him. Stan frowned and brandished the stick in front of himself. It struck stone around the same height as his own face. Apparently there was a hug boulder in front of them. It was like they were being cornered by the cave itself. Stan growled and turned again, determined to make his way around the boulder, and not to fall to their untimely deaths.

_So amusingly determined._

Stan froze in place. The voice had been so clear for a few seconds, but it was gone as soon as it had come. Stan shook his head, deciding to ignore any indication of voices, in his head or otherwise. Stan went to move forward but Ford stood completely still, and his breathing turn harsh with distress.  

“Ford?” Stan asked hesitantly. Then his brother cried out in fear. Stan panicked briefly as the hold on his arm was relinquished. A few moments passed before Stan breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Ford was still next to him, but had sunk onto the ground. 

Stan knelt down next to him. “Ford, what’s wrong?” he demanded. 

“They’re here… ” Ford whispered. 

Stan didn’t need to ask who Ford meant. Those monsters were still messing with his brother. They had ravaged him, whittling down his mind until nothing but terror filled it. _Hadn’t they done enough? What else could they possibly want?!_ Stan felt unbridled rage surge through his exhausted body. This would stop _now,_ he wouldn’t let his brother be tortured any longer. 

“HEY, COME OUT, YOU FUCKERS!” Stan screamed into the darkness. His voice bounded back at him. The only other sound in the dingy silence was Ford’s terrified whispered protests as he clung to Stan’s arm. Stan ignored him and continued to shout to the void. 

“You fuckin’ think you can just mess with my brother?! I’m sick and tired of this shit, let’s get this over with once and for all! What the fuck do you want from us?! COME OUT HERE AND FUCKIN’ SAY SOMETHING TO MY FACE!” 

Stan ceased his tirade, panting heavily, hands grasping at the stick until it shook. Ford was nearly convulsing with fear, his own hands desperately clinging to the front of Stan’s shirt like a lifeline. 

“ _What have you done_ ,” he moaned, nothing but abject dread coating his voice. Stan gritted his teeth and continued to wait. 

Then he felt something, a slight prickle on the back of his neck, as if a long fingernail had just trailed across it. A soft white noise met his ears, like the distant sound of a waterfall. It grew in volume until he could make out actual whispering, a legion of voices indistinguishable from one to another. Something cold and ghost-like slid over him, almost imperceptible on his shivering skin. 

_Ah… Little Fish. So nice of you to say hello._  
Stan nearly fell over from shock. The voice came from the whirlwind of whispers, but it seemed to penetrate into his skull, drill into his psyche. He didn’t know how he understood the voice (voices? he couldn’t tell), but it caused his legs to nearly give out. He leaned heavily on the staff for support, trying to come to grips with his fear. Next to him, Ford moaned and trembled. One of them had to be strong, and Stan had to protect his brother, no matter the cost. He straightened up again, and forced out words past the terror in this throat. 

“Leave my brother alone.”

_He brought this upon himself. Wished to protect you. We do nothing but simply exist._

_Mortal minds cannot comprehend our nature. Drives them to madness. None of our concern.  
_

Great, he was dealing with a bunch of self-righteous, smart-aleck demons. 

“Fine,” Stan growled. “Then I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to show us the fuckin’ way out of this shithole?” 

_Little Fish is quite amusing._

_There is no exit. This is a space between spaces, a malfunction brought you here. An unusable dimension. We take residence in such places.  Strange that two mortals arrived here. Very rare._

Stan’s heart went cold. So there wasn’t an exit. The entire universe of this place may have just been this cave. Stan fought against the rising despair. 

_No, no. There has to be some way,_ he thought, his mind racing. 

“Look, you said so yourself, we don’t belong here. Why aren’t you just killin’ us then? Why torment us like this?”

_Anomaly is claimed by one of ours already. Cannot kill him. However, we can amuse ourselves with him._

_You cannot See. We cannot See you. Cannot penetrate your mind or consume you._

Stan breathed out. So it was true: because he was blind he wasn’t being driven crazy by these things like Ford was. But… they had said something about Ford already being “claimed”? Stan wasn’t sure what that meant, but somehow he knew it was another secret Ford was keeping from him. He couldn’t worry about that now though. Stan swallowed, his throat bone-dry. He felt Ford breathing close to him, shallow puffs of air on Stan’s ear. His brother had fallen silent since the monsters started talking. 

_Amusing to watch a small mortal like you struggle. Like an insect in a current. Little Fish in a big stream._

Stan shivered violently as the cold tendril-like things moved tighter around them, and the whispers were filled with a strange tittering that buzzed like static in his ears. After a moment, Stan realized these things were _laughing,_ and it was one of the most horrifying sounds he had heard in his life. Stan was used to being the clown, a joke, but now apparently he was the biggest joke in the universe. Even unspeakable horrors found him a laughing-stock. Figured. 

“Well… that’s great. Look, I’d love to indulge you but we really gotta get outta here.” 

_Hm. Little Fish wishes to leave. Wishes to leave us._

_What do you think?_

_He is amusing after such a long time of boredom._

“I-I’ll make you a deal…” Stan spoke through the fear clouding his being, his legs trembling again. “I’ll stay here with you guys… if you let my brother go.”

Ford cried out softly next to him. Stan’s arm had nearly gone numb from how tightly his brother clutched him, and he heard his frantic murmuring of, “No, no, no, no….” 

_Tempting. Very tempting. Can get tedious here. Yet we cannot devour you.  
_

_Rather pointless. You will simply die immediately if you stayed.  
_

“B-But you said you get bored… and how old are you guys. A million years old? A trillion? One little break in that boredom is worth a little deal, don’t ya think?” 

_Hm, an enticing offer. But no need. Still not worth a deal._

“W-What if…” Stan took in a shuddering breath, his mind casting about wildly to grab onto anything that would be remotely appealing to these things. “We play a game instead of makin’ a deal. It’ll be more interestin’ for you.”

_Now this has our attention Little Fish._

_Yes. Your brother was one step ahead of us. Blinded you, so we could not See. A rematch._

“You like that, huh? Okay… okay.” Stan licked his dry lips and repositioned his grip on his walking stick.  

“Then let’s lay down some ground rules.” 

_WE give the Rules. You play by our Rules.  
_

“Fine. What are they?”

_Little Fish and Anomaly must break our construction._

Stan was about to ask what that meant, when a sudden whipping force drove through him, and he nearly screamed from the power of it. Then to his horror, Ford was yanked out of his grip. 

“FORD!” Stan screamed, panic gripping his heart. There was the stomach-curling movement of tendrils around him, and Stan reached out, but it felt though there was a barrier infront of him. He heard Ford crying out, and then his cries were stifled to a suffocated whimper. Stan tried hard not to think what was happening to him, and instead desperately banged his fists on the barrier.

“Give him back,” Stan roared, fury coiling in his chest. “This game was between you and me, _let him go NOW_!”

_We make the Rules, and you play. If you win, you both go. If not, die here._

“B-But… how can I… I can’t see anything,” Stan gritted out. His body was trembling with fatigue and terror, the need to reach his brother the only thought in his mind. Stan forced himself to take a deep shaking breath to keep his head clear. He couldn’t afford to panic now. If there was one thing he learned from being trapped in trunks, tied to chairs, held at gunpoint, it was that panicking was the worst thing he could do. He had to keep calm, think of a way out of this. 

“How is this challenging for you, if you’re so powerful? How is this even fun for you?” 

_The amusement comes from watching mortals futilely struggle. Running through the maze we created for them.  
_

So it was as if they enjoyed watching ants burn as they held up a magnifying glass. Stan was a pawn, just a temporary way for them to amuse themselves. And he didn’t have any choice but to play along.

“Fine,” he growled. It was all or nothing. Taking chances was something he was good at. He was unlucky in many ways, he always seemed to cause accidents that altered his future for the worst. But in other ways, he was extremely lucky. Rolling the dice, playing a winning hand, escaping with his life. Dumb luck. Dumb luck was fitting for himself, he thought grimly. But he prayed to whatever uncaring force out there that he wouldn’t run out of it yet, that he would have just enough left to use it for the only worthwhile thing he had ever needed it for.  

“I’m comin’, Ford,” he shouted into the darkness around him. “Jus’ hang on.”    
-  
The entire world shifted. He couldn’t see it, but he felt it, air and energy changing around him. Then his eyes throbbed with sharp pain, it pressed harder and harder into his skull. His entire world erupted into white light, and he screamed, clutching at his eyes, and it was over. Stan stood there, gasping, the molecules around him, settling back down. 

The pain had disappeared entirely from his eyes. He blinked, and his heart lurched into his throat. Blurred masses of colorful shapes swarmed around him. He blinked again and the shapes came into sharper focus. He could _see_. But what was he seeing exactly? Slowly the shapes formed and congealed into something cohesive. The boardwalk. Glass Shard Beach. Crowds hurried around him, laughing filled the summer air,  the sky was alight with sunset. Stan shook his head in awe. What was going on?

“Come on, Stan!” The voice made everything within him freeze. He hadn’t heard it in countless years. Slowly he turned to see his brother smiling warmly at him. Stan’s heart thudded in his chest. Ford was eleven again, carefree and innocent. This couldn’t actually be happening, right? It was an illusion, a part of him knew, but seemed so… real. The air smelled like carnival food, booth attendants called into the evening bustling air to play their games. And most importantly, Stan could see. He could see everything as if his memories had come to life, bright and real and as wonderful as he remembered. His brother’s smiling face was clear of darkness and insanity.  Stan looked down at himself, and realized he was young again as well. Them as a team again, a dynamic duo. It was what he had wanted so _desperately_ for so long, but…. 

Something that felt so terribly _off._ Wrong. It was wrong. 

“Stan, what’s wrong? Aren’t we going into the funhouse?” Ford asked him, breaking Stan out of his thoughts. Stan glanced at Ford and then across the boardwalk at the Weird Shack, looking exactly as Stan had remembered. _It’s not real._ Stan urged himself to continuously think, feeling panic brim into his consciousness.   _It’s not real._

The illusion before him suddenly seemed to glitch, and for a split second the crowds standing in line became dark faceless masses. Then a moment later they were tourists again, standing with too big smiles on their faces. 

“Stan! What’s going on? You’re starting to worry me.” Ford stared at him, a concerned frown on his face. Stan took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts from the overwhelming pounding on his senses. 

“Ford, this isn’t real. We have to get out of here,” Stan told him urgently, grabbing his shoulders.

“What… what are you talking about?” Ford asked, adjusting his glasses nervously. “This isn’t a very funny joke, Stan.” 

Another thought occurred to him, one that caused a shiver of dread to run through him. This Ford might not be real either. He could just be another illusion those demons conjured up to mess with his head. Stan tried to think. There had to be a way to tell whether or not this was the real Ford or not.  He glanced at the funhouse again, and an idea suddenly to form. 

“Come on,” he whispered urgently, and grabbed his brother by the hand.   
The world around him didn’t seem idealistic anymore, like when he first entered. Something about the colors in the sky became strange and forced together like puzzle pieces fitting together wrong. The sounds in the air now sounded like a repeating playback loop, the same noises continuously filtering through the air. They didn’t even have to sneak in; no one tried to stop them. The people stood there, wide grins still plastered to their faces, eyes silently following them, heads turning  in unison as Stan and Ford ran into the funhouse. Didn’t Ford notice that? Was he part of the illusion and didn’t care, or was he real and so in denial that he refused to notice? 

Ford followed Stan into the hall of mirrors. Stan had a hunch, and he always followed his hunches, but there was only one way to know if he was right about this. 

“Ford, look into the mirror,” Stan commanded, positioning his brother in front of one. “What do you see?” Ford shrugged and stared into the mirror. It was still young Ford, innocence and youth lining his features. 

“I don’t see anything but me,” Ford sighed, crossing his arms. “I’m getting tired of your jokes.” 

“Look carefully. Look at your eyes,” Stan repeated, his voice nearly catching in his throat, waiting to see if this was actually Ford. _His_ Ford.   
Ford frowned and peered closer at himself. Then he gasped quietly and took a step backward. 

“It’s only me in the reflection,” Ford repeated, a hardness growing in his voice that was out of place for a child. “Stop it.”

“You have to keep lookin’. This isn’t real, Ford. We ain’t kids anymore. You have to wake up.” 

“I-I don’t want….” Ford’s shoulders began to tremble, until it spread throughout his entire body. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from his reflection. “I don’t want to.” 

“We went through the portal, and we’re trapped. The demons caught us in some kind of illusion.” 

“Stop it, STOP IT!”

The mirror began to crack. Ford covered his eyes, stumbling away, small body shuddering and overwhelmed.  

“You blinded me to save me from them!” Stan shouted.

“ _NO_!” Ford wailed, as if it were his heart rather than the mirror that was breaking. 

“ _Please_ , Ford,” Stan begged. “You have to snap _outta this_! We’ll die here!”   
Ford shook his head, his eyes still tightly covered, huddling away from the mirror, from Stan. 

“I-I know…” Stan whispered, burning, painful tears forming in his own eyes. “I know how hard it is. Wanting somethin’ so _badly_ , you make up stories for yourself, hopin’ everything will turn out okay. I wanted this too Ford. I wanted us jus’ to be kids again, no more pain, or fightin’ or loneliness.” Stan inched closer to his brother, hand extended and wavering, afraid to touch him because if he did he might just vanish into nothingness. “B-But… that’s not real anymore. This _hurtin_ ’ is real.” Stan was crying in earnest now, the words tumbling out of him as he urgently tried to break through his brother’s denial. “I understand why ya did it, Ford. Y-You were protectin’ me. Jus’ like I protect you. And  I-I forgive you.” 

At those words, the reflection changed again. Ford stood there, the one that had called Stan to Gravity Falls, that he had fought bitterly with, that had blinded him, that had done everything within his power to protect him. Stan took in his appearance, realizing deep down, that this may be the last time he would ever be able to _look_ at his brother as he actually was. And he looked like a wraith, merely the shadow of himself. Dirt and blood stained his disheveled torn clothes, his hair was a mess as if he had been pulling it out. But his face was what Stan tried to take in the most. Pale and sickly, with deep blackened shadows beneath his eyes, haunted and blood-shot and empty.

The Ford standing next to him was now the same as the reflection, no longer wrapped in his comforting daydream of youth. He stared at himself in the mirror, the fabric of the illusion swiftly crumbling around them. Then Ford let out a desolate scream that turned Stan’s blood cold. Ford screamed again and threw himself at the mirror. His fists pounded viciously into the surface with a force that seemed to vibrate the air around them. The mirror shattered and shards of glass and droplets of blood scattered into the air. 

With the mirror, the illusion of their childhood shattered around them. Stan reached out to grab his brother’s arm, and Ford also reached out for him – but then everything plummeted back into pitch blackness.   
-  
Stan cried out and he felt his eyes burning again, the pain overwhelmed him after its absence. He felt the freezing presence of the tendrils around him, ghosting over his skin, unable to touch him. He took deep shuddering breaths, his stomach rolled over and he tried not to retch. 

_Very good, Little Fish, you broke our Illusion. Very entertaining.  
_

“Where’s Ford,” Stan gasped in between breaths, hands wrapped around his stomach. “Give me back my brother.”

_Not yet, Little Fish, not yet. One more guess, one more game.  
_

“No, you said if I won, you would free him,” Stan shouted, and realized tears still sullied his cheeks. 

_We make the Rules. One more test.  
_

A primal yell of frustration escaped him, and he tangled his hands into his hair. “Tell me what your fuckin’ rules are then!” 

_Lucky last time. This time no sight. No speaking. Find him_. 

Stan fumbled around on the ground until he located where his walking stick had fallen. He leaned on it, and tilted his head, listening for something, a sign, a clue. Anything. But there was nothing that could tip him off to where Ford was. They said no speaking, so Stan didn’t dare make a sound, not even to call his brother’s name, terrified that would cause him to automatically fail. He stumbled forward into the blackness, arms reaching, searching for something that could help. There was nothing, barely a sound, just the slight whispering of shadows. What could he do? He didn’t know how to go about this, besides stumbling around and trying to guess where in the infinite darkness his brother could be, like some sort of sick game of hide and seek. _Ford_ … Stan trembled.

“I’m right here, brother,” said Ford near his shoulder. Stan nearly jumped out of his skin. He nearly spoke out loud, but bit his tongue at the last moment. 

“It’s me Stan! Why aren’t you answering? Let’s get out of here!” Stan remained silent, shaking with confusion and frustration. 

“Please, Stan, we have to go home!” Another voice, also Stanford’s joined in with the first. Then another. There were voices all around him, all of them Ford’s, all of them begging, pleading with him to escape. Stan sank to his knees, mind whirling wildly about what to do. He wanted so desperately to cry out Ford’s name, to try to locate which one was his brother, his _real_ brother. All of the voices seemed to mock him, and they clattered around louder and louder in his skull.

He clutched the walking stick in his hand, using it to ground himself. Despite the barrage of voices around him, an idea formed. It was a long-shot, but it was something to go off of. He stood up again and sharply brought the stick down on the stone. He struck it three times, then listened intently, straining his ears past the countless treacherous voices. The noise echoed off the cave wall. Nothing solid around him. Just illusions. Echoes. He moved forward and repeated the process again. Nothing, empty noise bouncing across the cave wall. He repeated the process countless times, and countless times echoes filled the cavernous void, drowning out the whispers and pleading from Ford’s untrue voice. It would have been easy for him just to give up then. He didn’t know how long it could take him to find Ford, maybe he never would. But wouldn’t give up, not until his last breath. He wouldn’t abandon his brother. 

He struck the stone floor again and this time… _this time_ the echo seemed to stop short. As if something had blocked the volley of noise back to himself. He did it again just to back sure, and carefully gauge the sound. Yes, there was something solid between himself and the wall. Stan moved forward a bit, trying to pinpoint where the obstruction was. 

He wanted to ask if his brother was there so badly, but he couldn’t say anything. It could have been another illusion, used to mess with his mind. His walking stick suddenly missed the stone ground, and instead only empty air was in front of him. Stan gasped, and jumped back, trying to keep hold of the stick but it slipped through his fingers. He heard it clatter down the cliff, and as the last sounds of it disappeared, terror took hold of him and seemed to glue Stan to where he stood. His heart hammered in his chest. Was it another illusion? Could his brother really be there, or was there nothing but a bottomless cliff in front of him? There had to be some way to figure out if his brother was there. 

Trembling with exhaustion, and fear, but daring himself to feel the trepidation of hope, Stan raised one arm, hand extended in front of him in the darkness. Then he waited. His heart pounded in time with his throbbing eyes, but Stan waited, hand held up in the abyss, to see if there would be a response. 

Then from the darkness, he felt something solid press against his palm. It was sweaty and shaking but unmistakably and wonderfully his brother’s six-fingered hand. Stan let out a sob of relief, and only realized just then how absolutely terrified he had been that he would have lost Ford forever. 

The demons around them laughed eerily, the sounds distorting the air around them. Stan waited, hardly breathing, to see what they would say next. 

_You have won.  
_

_Thank you for an entertaining match. Take your brother back.  
_

Ford suddenly stumbled into him, as if he was violently shoved from behind. Stan wrapped his arms around his brother, his warmth and solidness a welcome relief from the endless freezing mist. Ford hugged him back, his body shuddering, nails digging through the fabric of Stan’s shirt. Breathless choked noises escaped him, as if he was trying to speak, or scream. He struggled to make a sound but nothing came out except air. 

“I’ve got you,” Stan whispered, gently running a hand through his sweat-drenched matted hair. “Shh… it’s okay, Sixer… I’ve got you.” Ford buried his face in Stan’s shoulder, and breathed out a muffled moan. 

Stan cradled his brother against himself and raised his head to the ceiling of the cave. “I won. Now let us out of here.”

_Correct. A deal’s a deal. Step through the portal, Little Fish._

Stan heard something crackle off to his right, then a burst of vibrant energy flowed around them.  He gripped his brother to him, and walked toward the noise, the air around him vibrating more violently, the noise growing almost unbearably loud. 

_Are they actually letting us go? Are they telling the truth?_ Stan thought. _Well, there’s only one way to find out._ He took a final step through the portal.

  
-

  
There was a burst of warm and fresh air and Stan stumbled forward with his brother. The both collapsed onto the soft, sandy ground. It took a few moments for Stan to orient himself to his surroundings. Then he recognized almost immediately where they were from the smell and taste of salt water, the thundering waves. The ocean. They were near an ocean. In fact, they were close enough that Stan felt the cool spray of the surf on his face. He would recognize the ocean anywhere. But he also knew they were not on earth, and he knew it as easily as someone who walked into the wrong house. 

Little details tipped him off, the sand was thick and clumped together like sticky rice. Birds overhead (if they were birds) emitted deep resonating bellows that no flying animal on earth had ever made. The smell in the air was indeed salt water, but it mingled with a sweet smell that seemed foreign and strange for a beach.

But despite being a universe away from Earth, he had never felt closer to home in the last ten years as he did right now.

Stan rolled onto his back to feel the sun on his face, and heard his brother do the same. His eyes still hurt him, but it was dulled now, more bearable then before. He allowed himself to feel the pain, and let the sea air wrap around it.

  
He lay face up, basking in the openness, the fresh air flushed around his body He heard Ford shuffle next to him, his breaths escaping him into the wind, and in time with the surf. The tide lazily lapped at their feet and pants, and Stan relished the cool touch. 

They remained silent, drinking in the pure relief of sun on their faces, the pulsating waves. Stan moved his hand until he felt it brush against the fabric of Ford’s sleeve. He rested it there, feather-light, a connection that provided quiet reassurance for both of them. 

Ford chuffed out a breath, stammering  out a garbled noise, before falling silent. Stan waited. There was no rush, there was nothing but them and the sea. Ford tried to speak again, and failed. Stan waited patiently, as the tide gently came in around them. Until finally, in a soft stammering voice Ford spoke, words barely audible over the rushing waves. 

“R-Remember… when we w-were k-kids…” Ford paused, breathlessly, as if that one sentence drained him. “I got c-caught in the r-riptide…?”

Stan nearly sat straight up in excitement, but forced himself to be still. Ford was responding, thinking clearly again. It was enough to make Stan want to cry in relief. 

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I-I thought I was d-dead… but you d-dived in to save me… T-Then we b-both got s-stuck….”

“Yeah. Sure got in trouble that day,” Stan chuckled quietly. “But thanks to your quick thinking, we got outta there."  

"But y-you still s-saved me Stan. You s-saved me.”

“And you saved me. I guess that’s what we do, huh.” 

Ford made a soft noise of agreement and fell silent again.

“You okay?” Stan asked quietly. 

“T-Talking’s…hard…” Ford whispered, his voice nearly lost to the sea. Stan gently brushed his knuckles over his arm. He wondered if this would be something that would stay with Ford for a while. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t have to deal with it alone. Ford’s voice was free of the hysterical terror that had gripped him in the cave. Now it was wavering and small, like a trampled plant trying to straighten itself out again. 

“It’ll be all right,” Stan reassured. “I’ll always be here to help you.”

Ford hummed a response to indicate he had heard. There was a few  more moments of contented silence before Stan sighed.

“As nice as it is here, we’re not outta trouble yet.”

“S'okay…” Ford murmured. “Wherever we go…we go t-together…right?”

“Right.” Stan smiled to himself, taking in a deep breath of salt air, and feeling the sun warm his face. As long as they had each other, they would be okay.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can check out my post and drawing about what happens to Stan and Ford afterwards in the AU here -> http://pinesinthewoods.tumblr.com/post/129467610445/this-is-what-happens-to-the-stans-afterward-of-my
> 
> In addition, you can look through my Blind Faith Au tag, where I go into a lot of detail about the aftermath of the events of this fic, and their eventual return to Gravity Falls. http://pinesinthewoods.tumblr.com/tagged/blind-faith-au


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